
In case you missed them, here are the links to the rare songs Actress put on twitter a while back. Obviously they’re jams.
Mad Stereo
C.L.A.W
Murder Plaza
My Weed Is Strong Blud
Metal Tiger
Parallel Worldenjoy~
Each iteration of the site serves a different purpose. While many people follow on Tumblr, and the Facebook page has quite a few likes, the Twitter site, which will share rare and out of print records (the original purpose of the site), lags far behind because it has only been relaunched since December. Click here to check it out. This is the list of albums that have appeared previously.
Using sound waves to levitate individual droplets of solutions containing pharmaceutical drugs and drying them in mid-air.
It is very hard to live with silence. The real silence is death and this is terrible. To approach this silence, it is necessary to journey to the desert. You do not go to the desert to find identity, but to lose it, to lose your personality, to be anonymous. You make yourself void. You become silence. You become more silent than the silence around you. And then something extraordinary happens: you hear silence speak.
AMFJ - BÆN
Here’s a pretty idiosyncratic release from Iceland. FALK released this album in December of ‘11, but the man behind AMFJ, Adalsteinn Jorundsson, has recently been sending some copies stateside, and you can order/listen on BandCamp as well (so much stuff going through BandCamp these days!). Strange Maine should have a few stateside physical copies on CD, and this packaging is really cool, with rich color and multiple panels of composite/superimposed photographs of the artist-in-motion that are very illustrative of the music.
My first impression of BÆN was how complimentary this album is to Arvo Zylo’s “333” record that I reviewed last year—both records feature their respective composers working alone in noise/industrial surroundings, and both composed their records within the confines of a single musical interface. In the case of AMFJ, Jorundsson works in a software package called Jeskola Buzz, which looks sort of like a freeware version of Reason. For those unfamiliar with the basic concept behind either of those bits of software, one makes sounds in virtual synth modules, which can then be combined in various configurations, run through one another or through effects, etc.
Though it’s a considerably more spacious environment than the RM1X sequencer that Zylo employed for his “333,” it’s still quite a self-imposed limitation compared to the resources most electronic musicians avail themselves of for any recording session. But under many conditions, I think these kinds of limitations can save folks a lot wasted energy spent in “paradox of choice” deliberations and keep the focus on creating the music itself. I remember reading a John McLaughlin quote about perfect freedom coming from perfect discipline, or something to that effect—though he was talking about keeping your chops in shape for improvisation, the concept translates into the world of composition/recording beautifully: pick a small palette of materials, learn to use them efficiently, almost unconsciously, and you’re ready for inspiration to strike.
AMFJ is often tagged as a power electronics/harsh industrial act. I definitely hear elements of those genres in this music, but BÆN definitely falls toward the more melodic/atmospheric end of the “harsh” continuum. Vocally, a couple of the tracks in the middle of the album (“Mammon” and “Retoria”) get into some really aggro vocal work, and Jorundsson sounds briefly like a 1000 year old tree struggling to stay upright in a punishing storm of percussion and metallic drones. But I think the best moments of the record show a lot of restraint—Lofun,” for example, dedicated to his fiance, features a ground-loop sounding hum interrupted by a curious percussion break which repeats multiple times. It’s a delicate piece that never rises above a mezzo piano, but it shows a lot of distinction in its poise. The opening track, “Utburdur Umskiptingur,” becomes loud and impenetrable, but it shows a lot of patience getting there, its sample of a child’s whine gradually layered with itself and effected in ways that emphasize the fundamental resonant points of the sample, like a shorter industrial-tinged take on Lucier’s “I Am Sitting in a Room.”
My favorite piece, though, is the album’s closer, “Husid Andar.” The longest track at almost 9 minutes, Jorundsson sings in a clear, clean voice, grasping at transcendence amid a dense clatter of fluctuating synths, metallic clanging, menacing machines and idling motors. I hear some awesome late-oughts Ulver vibes at moments: subtle vocal harmonies push through the din, trainlike rhythms rise and drown in acid reverb, and a long minute of silence hangs in the air at the end of the disc. There are some great ideas happening in this piece, and I hope that future AMFJ efforts continue to work with the epic potential in both harsh noise and near-silence.
—Scott Scholz
The Dept. of Harmonic Integrity - In Deck and Depth, A Whim, A Weft
A Beest has just been born in Iowa City, and among the first releases of this new label is the debut of The Dept. of Harmonic Integrity. Before I even begin to address this music, though, I have to say that I find this album art almost impossibly beautiful. Like fetish object beautiful. Head over to the BandCamp page for this recording to look at the other Beest releases in the right column. Go ahead and click on “more releases,” while you’re at it. I love the colors, the font choices, the layout template, and that Beest logo itself, a clever stylization of a chord fingering diagram. While I’m much more interested in music than visual design, these are seriously awesome, and a damned striking way to launch a label.
As it turns out, the fellow behind these eye-popping album covers is also half of The Dept. of Harmonic Integrity. You may already know “Wayne Longer” as “Adderall Canyonly” from Field Hymns, and along with “Min Roach,” the pair have delivered a marvelous debut.
This kind of recording is totally refreshing to me from a review perspective, because I like the music immediately while still having to do a lot of work to describe what I think is happening here. In the last few years, particularly coming from cassette labels like Field Hymns and Orange Milk, there is a new genre coalescing, a subset of electronic music that is heavy on synths and sprinkled with samples and field recordings. In terms of influence, these recordings seem to draw from musique concrete/early electronic music without taking themselves too seriously and disappearing into academia, while absorbing technical and emotionally evocative contents from a potpourri of under-respected musical forms: B-movie horror and sci-fi soundtracks, cartoons, early video game sound design, library music, cheesy Moog albums, 80s neon shapes and stripes and cracklepaint, Wal-Mart synths, early/naive iterations of consumer culture, etc. In other words, whatever one would call this genre (is there a name that I don’t know yet?), it unites highbrow and lowbrow forms of music with an ease that reminds me of what Juxtapoz magazine did in the ’90s for under-appreciated forms of visual art like hot rods and graffiti.
My first thought about this album’s cover is that it looks like the world’s most awesome “library album” jacket. And the music really manages to sustain that kind of vibe, sounding both exotic and vaguely familiar at once. It’s all synths, unfolding with a deliberate patience I associate with highbrow minimalism and timbres from early Tangerine Dream/Klaus Schulze and the like. Tempo choices are laid-back, and layers of synths rise and fall to build space. Smoother waveforms generally form slowly-evolving pads, and slightly more aggressive timbres are introduced when melodies need some differentiation. Some pieces like “Limbs +” focus on rhythmic and textural ideas, while others like “Upon the Starry Skies” have much more emphasis on harmonic content.
In addition to the more “classical” and early komische influences on this music, moments of sci-fi or horror soundtrack drama creep into the album at times: the last few minutes of “Upon the Starry Skies,” for example, has a tense organ bass melody and ethereal synth chords seems to indicate trouble in a spaceship in a dark forest, and “The Ouudan” could serve as an alternate soundtrack to “Chariots of the Gods” in my book. That’s my favorite track here, which is broken into two sections. The first third phases a metallic-sounding riff against itself within a rich bath of delay and reverb, and gradually fades out into a long metamorphosis of aviation-sounding drones finding their way back to ancient synths and sirens and feedback-like drones. It’s a real treat of spatial and dynamic effects.
But in general, this music is made from a very minimal collection of elements—the quality of the synth sounds themselves is such an important factor in digging this music, I suggest swinging over to that BandCamp page again. If you dig these synths, you’ll have a good time getting lost in this album. Here’s to hoping Beest gets a chance to release this stuff on vinyl, too, as this music and its artwork already seem like a treasured relic from the retrofuture.
—Scott Scholz
Boron - The Beige Album
Back when I first started writing for Killed in Cars, I heard a bit of the first Boron release on Field Hymns, “Decrresscenndo.” That album was a focused affair, loaded with squealing, throbbing, rumbling oscillations from a Moog iiip (press for the album calls that synth “the size of a room,” but isn’t that just a suitcase model?). With the addition of a few well-placed classical samples, the music concentrated on the extremes of Moogscapes, falling somewhere along the vibes of old tape-music from “serious” music circles but with a bit of 8-bit retrocool vibe mixed in.
On The Beige Album, Boron expands in many directions at once: vintage synth abuse remains at the nucleus of the project, but there are lots of synth tones from other eras at work in these pieces—I think I’m hearing a lot of Casio/Yamaha tones and percussion pads from the early 80s, if my memories of stretching my little arms to bang on the tiny blue drum pads of those old Yamaha department store machines serve me correctly. As before, samples get employed occasionally on this record, and field recordings seem to pop up, too: nocturnal outdoor/jungle sounds on “Moons Over My Panamax” and wind/fire sounds that occasionally dominate “Sunset Tunnel,” etc. Vocals and guitars have prominent roles in several pieces, as well. And guest musicians are featured on roughly half of the album, taking Boron’s sole member Dan Nelson in new directions.
There’s a bit of every extreme in electronica represented on Beige: if you want subdued textures and environmental sounds, a little ominous but left at a low, exploratory volume, you’ll dig the “Moons Over…” track mentioned above. For something louder and more aggressive, try “Borong” a few tracks later, which itself segues into a more docile exposition of similar textures in “The Boroner’s Report.” The first few tracks on the album feel like close cousins of the “Decrresscenndo” music, while there are some more melodic ideas heading in the direction of projects like Giant Claw in tunes like “Tomato Upload” and “G-Rated Grope” (though this stuff is weirder and less heavily-arranged than the ‘Claw).
A few of my favorites here take the basic Boron sound into new dimensions: the almost operatic female vocals of “Glamour Science,” coupled with its waspy bass drones, remind me of early Residents mixed with early Zappa vocal writing in the best of ways, but with a more modern, self-aware feeling. “Mountain Dewd” starts with a retro-cheeziod synth drum/bass groove, which gets molested by some seriously reverbed-out psych guitar overdubs: think Acid Mothers Temple robbing a GameStop. And “Boron Squad” is a seriously bizarre surprise in the middle of the album, a full “song” evoking the spirit of Snakefinger crashing at an Occupy camp with beats, guitars, and hilarious f-bombing vocals. Mic Check!
As the album stretches in so many directions, one subtle-but-cool technique for establishing continuity across the seas of Beige is simply to re-use bits of sound in contrasting pairs of songs. For example, “Nonsensebeard” and “Clamburgler” both use a “Yeah Boron” sample; “Moons Over…” and “Sunset Tunnel” use similar nocturnal/outdoor sounds, and “Viking Ballet” re-uses a strange popping passage from “PongSong,” which I think is made by smacking a microphone running into an envelope filter. It’s a great way to introduce a little cohesion to such a multifarious batch of music. Altogether, this is a strong record that succeeds at almost every deviant style it tries, and I’m going to go back and explore the sophomore Boron release “Aria Statica” to get some more Boron in my speakers.
—Scott Scholz
This is my latest 8tracks mix. There is a good deal of variety here, as it moves from weird electronics (juke to IDM) and on to field recordings, eai, drone, and concrete. Random folk and choral music is interspersed as well. Enjoy!
Moulttrigger - Birds
There are so many fun ways to approach this cassette release from Centipede Farm. On the surface, this is a bizarre foray into heavily processed “avian arrangements,” wild electronic escapades made from a multitude of bird calls sourced from the old National Geographic Guide to Bird Sounds. The track titles are, ahem, nested in puns, with gems like “Undoing the Pigeon” and “Die Fledergrouse,”and perhaps the most entertaining part of all is that the man behind Moulttrigger is named Dave Wren. For reals.
Despite the lighthearted track titles, the music of “Birds” isn’t afraid of the dark. Certainly by the middle of the album, the novelty element of this production is gone, and one is left to the industrial rhythmic structures of “Whole Lotta Dove,” or mechanical, train-like dirges with counterpoint that sounds like motors and squeaking doors in “I’m Just Lookin’ for Some Thrush.” The harsh granular quality to much of the album’s textures feels deadly serious and many dustbaths away from its feathered origins.
Not every track is what I’d call “grainy” in texture, though. One of my favorites, “Sitta,” converts birds into very clean, crisp electronic beats and then attacks them with various filters. By the end, the sounds become almost human, sounding like a voice yelling “nook” or “no,” with really unsettling stereo imagery supplementing the weirdness. That, and the perpetual chiptune-march of the album’s closer, “Tern, Tern, Tern” are my favorites.
When I consider the intended utility behind birdsong collections, I think of the many folks who go “birding” and attempt to imitate bird calls precisely, listening to the calls carefully to memorize every detail. In the case of “Birds,” one works instead with music, heavy on rhythmic delineation, where gentle imitation evokes musical genres instead. One might peer into the edge of a Jamaican jungle, for example, blasting “Poorwill Revolt,” whose triple meter feel sometimes subtly nudges at dub, geese honking on the “ands.” Tight samples serve to bring out vaguely conventional percussion sounds in “Undoing the Pigeon,” too, creating a sort of lounge/exotica-ish backbeat with an insistent envelope-filtered kick drum of sorts.
If I didn’t know ahead of time that this whole record was made from manipulations of bird sounds, I don’t think I would’ve guessed. Interestingly, though, there seems to be something inherent to these sounds that animals still detect, even when the samples are tiny and the effects applied to them are dramatic. In my own unscientific study, I discovered that one out of two pug dogs in my care remain at attention whenever I listen to “Birds,” looking toward my listening room as though a bird might come flying out at any time:
While not my “usual thing,” I really dig the album, and I think you might, too. As many cassette releases go, the first run of “Birds” has already flown the coop come and gone, but you’re in luck: it’s back in print as a 2nd edition. Go to Centipede Farm, and you’ll be rocking your Walkman for a measly four bucks. And a bit of trivia: subsequent to the release of this recording, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s Macaulay Library (which has long housed the recordings used to make the National Geographic records used as samples in “Birds”) put its whole collection of animal sounds online. There are over 150,000 of them. See you in a few years, Mr. Wren!
—Scott Scholz
There are a few different versions of this (one far inferior one on BeatPort that came up on Google), but this one is the best. Like the first track on the YYU release from last year, this particular track isn’t a straight juke track, but juke is its main character. What fits around it is nice, but the repetitions in this are addictive. Check it out.
“Fear May Be a Builder” is a seriously fine debut album from Brooklyn’s Killer BOB, an instrumental quartet whose compositions defy every pigeonhole. I’ve been digging into this music for the last few months, and though I dug this record after one spin, it continues to grow on me even more. Killer BOB is, at their essence, an avant-rock band, but they also draw heavily from minimalist classical structures and a funky, asymmetrical melodic approach from the early days of free jazz.
Though I listen to a lot of improvisation-oriented music, my heart really lies closest to heavily-composed forms of music, and Killer BOB’s thoughtful and meticulous writing fills the staves of my heart with all of the right notes. Fans of Zs, especially their earlier sextet period, will really dig this music—but that’s not to say it’s derivative. Though both acts incorporate forms of phrase repetition and an emphasis on cycles of insistent rhythmic activity, there is a certain old-school grit to Killer BOB that reminds me of 60s mavericks like Captain Beefheart and Ornette Coleman, leaving space for moments of reckless abandon and fun.
I caught Killer BOB drummer Max Jaffe on tour with Normal Love last fall, where he was covering intricate-yet-brutal parts tracked in the studio by Eli Litwin (Intensus, Inzinzac, etc). Jaffe’s ferocious and precise take on the “Survival Tricks” music led me to suspect that he was a very heavy-handed player, but his playing with Killer BOB shows his delicate side at times. Despite their name, much of Killer BOB’s record is downright gentle, such as the aptly-titled triptych “Music She Can Sleep Through,” and even pieces that crescendo into dense walls of sound tend to be made of many interlocking sections that include moments of ambient calm.
As a whole, this music breathes within a wide dynamic range, and almost any kind of musical contrast you can imagine is is fully and thoughtfully exploited: tempo shifts, stop/start sections, consonance and dissonance, pop/art genre references, repetition and through-composition. Structurally, the rhythm section frequently acts as musical anchor, creating steady (and relatively subdued) pulses over which guitar and saxophone work together as one pointillistic instrument, lurching between melodic fragments, quickly repeated phrases, and rhythmically dense clusters of shifting dissonance. But there are many exceptions to any generality a person can make about this album—every approach is subject to change as the music itself demands.
It’s difficult for me to pick favorite tracks on this record, as it really works best as a full record, but a few highlights are tracks like “Undercoat” and “Overcoat,”in which the gentle 4-measure figure of overdubbed reeds in the former morphs into a “tough exterior” with brash-yet-plaintive guitar work in the latter. I love the simple, dirty riff that gets explored throughout “Dirt Tits,” with an unusual solo drum workout of the riff for its final minute. And my overall favorite is “Sirens,” which is probably the most complex composition of the whole record, raging through a series of shifting approaches between a beautiful opening/closing made of gentle, harplike guitars.
Though this is essentially an instrumental album, there is a literary undercurrent to Killer BOB: four spoken word tracks, alternately collaged and dream-journal-like, are sprinkled roughly evenly into the track sequence of “Fear May Be a Builder,” presumably each representing one member of the band. And the layout of track titles on the back of the CD digipak is vertical, using a strange top/bottom justification that initially caused me to try to read the track titles horizontally: quite a Burroughsian cutup! I definitely get some Surrealist vibes from both these elements and the collage/montage approaches of this music, which are enforced by the band’s press info that describes this as a record “which explores their collective subconscious dream worlds.” As a huge enthusiast of Surrealist Games and other techniques for bringing subconscious and chance elements to the surface, I think this record succeeds as both a map of the dream/waking hinterlands and a fascinating bit of the territory itself. Highly recommended.
Perhaps more of the extramusical elements of this band’s work will become even clearer on tour, both in live performance and through exploring a tour-only tape and a chapbook of writing/imagery made by the band. And the band is on tour right now, heading into the midwest and back to the east coast. For Lincoln folks, they’ll be visiting us on Feb 18th at the Bourbon (save a tape and a book for me, guys), with King Thumper and Multidimensional Cowboy. For folks living elsewhere, this Facebook page has their full tour itinerary. And if you miss them on tour, you can (and should) get their album from Primary Records.
—Scott Scholz
I will be playing some tracks on the radio tomorrow night, Sunday the 27th at 10PM Central (11PM Eastern). The tracks will be mostly stuff I haven’t posted or mixed before. As always, I expect a nice chat with Scott, the host of the show (Other Music), and frequent KiC contributor (see his blog here, too). Click here to go to the main page, and then click the streaming button on the right side player to hear the stream.
(via on Tumblr)
(source)
Boris | Sometimes (My Bloody Valentine cover)
from an all-Japanese Loveless tribute album, released today. here’s another track from it.
I think I’ve always headed in the opposite direction as Pitchfork, for instance, although this is probably mostly by chance. As I said, I initially was turned off by the self-referential feel of the site. It felt celebratory in its subjectivity, its apparent agenda, and everything else. While I now approximate this style through acceptance of my subjective nature, I still didn’t like how the reviews were more about the reviewer than anything. They also seemed to be more about the career arc of artists than about the record in question of the body of work of that artist, ie. it was about how much, or how little, the artist in question adhered to some notion of “what artists should do.”
However, I would trade for that in an instant compared to what is now, more or less, promo materials for tie-ins with sponsorships. I think it is safer now. Imagine older Pitchfork, to go back to them: they’d champion weirdo stuff like Philip Jeck, William Basinski, and the Fiery Furnaces. Now, that’s not the bleeding edge there, but it isn’t the easy listening that takes up a bulk of their work (although they’ve developed some niche colums, with the dubstep one being strong, when it ran, and the Out Door being good, too).
I Suppose this isn’t a concise answer, but I feel as if people are moving away from analysis of records, because there are too many and conveying this sense of “I know all music that exists, and this is where it situates within the entirety of recorded music” is on its face foolish at this point. I’m about 7-8,000 records into things, and I realize every day how little I know. It is impossible to do this, so I feel things online, anyway, are moving to simple, subjective communication of what people like without this idea that “I need to write a long piece that (falsely) gives the impression I have an area of music cornered” or even talking about the music. My Twitter is moving in this way. More sites simply offer streams, as does Pitchfork Advance, which I think is gorgeous and a great idea.
There are a few people I interact with on here and on RYM that know about as much music as me, but it is totally different music. In that respect, I think covering music is more fragmented. It isn’t a conversation between different people about the same records (as, perhaps, it was in the past), but rather a collection of people talking about music itself, more conceptually, with their own collection of 5-10,000 albums on a HD as their “experience.”
No problem. Some of those posts are coming up on five years old, although I’m moving them here so as to consolidate services a bit.
I do like microtonal music, but as you can see here, very little of what I’ve rated is tagged as that. The reason for this is microtonal music is often simply tagged as free improvisation or eai on RYM, and some of my fellow travelers on that site genre vote in packs, so I can’t override them. Since you’ve been on my page, I’m sure you’ve seen this list (with microtonal starting around 117, although not updated in a few months). You likely will find a lot more stuff up your alley there.
Some of this is loosely addressed in this tag (here).
Other than that, I would say that I value my anonymity, at least as far as I’ve maintained it. For instance, most people that have followed the site for a while should know that I’m an attorney, at least in education and nominally by trade, based on this post. I also have never hid where I’ve lived, although when I was living in Brooklyn that came through much more obviously (since I could go see shows all the time). The Blogspot era (this, for example) of the site is more in that direction, while atmosphere in the Midwest informs my more “recent” posts (for example, this and this).
I would also say that the site grew from a small group of people, so it was more a group than my personality. As such, I keep to myself and interact on the back-end of these things (like Tumblr or Facebook or RYM). Sometimes that changes, and people like Matt and Scott kept this site alive for a long time. However, that’s the exception that proved the rule. There are a few people I’d like to get working on the site, but everyone seems to be talented and busy.
Another thing about the site is that it started as a collaboration with another person, so I never have thought of it as “me,” if you understand. Around 2008, when it started, I also had a strong aversion to the overly subjective and self-referential nature of sites like Pitchfork (although I miss that for them now), so I tried to keep it simple on my personal life and simply explain how a record made me feel. It has only been fairly recently that I’m more comfortable including more detail from my life to better explain my opinion of a record.
I have enabled the ask feature on KiC. I suppose with the new format, the bottom left icon isn’t obvious. As such, I’m setting this image as a click-through. I’ll answer most anything here.
The two previous Miles Trees I’ve posted are the 1975 Tree and the Fillmore Tree. Below is the third tree, the Lost Quintet Tree. Each disc has been re-ripped at 320 KBPS and upped as two high speed archives (the first for discs 1-6, the second for discs 7-12).
With the recent rejuvenation of the old trees posts, I figured it was time to add to the pile. Sony has, with varying quality, started to supply listeners with more commercial options for Miles’ electric period. The last decade has seen a DVD release of Miles’ transitional band playing the Isle of Wight, on 8/29/70 (which fits in between the March/April Fillmore East shows covered by the Fillmore Tree, and the mid-October shows in that same set). This same show is also available on CD now, on the 2011 release Bitches Brew Live. It is oddly paired with a pure Lost Quintet show from 7/5/69, perhaps to juxtapose the two bands playing the same material.
This July 5 show immediately precedes a July 7 show from Central Park, which is featured in this tree. You can see Sony start to move outward from the Bitches Brew material that they’ve released ever since The Complete Bitches Brew Sessions. In fact, this tree doesn’t include two more shows that are being commercially released (although they’ve been common in the bootleg circuit): two sets from 7/25/69 in France (which slot nicely ahead of the October material in this tree), and one show that is included here, an 11/5/69 show in Stockholm. And, while it has made the rounds, the new Live in Europe 1969: The Bootleg Series Vol. 2 does throw in a bonus: just as Bitches Brew: 40th Anniversary Collector’s Edtion thew in a DVD of the 11/4/69 show (included below), the tree’s hole between the November 5th and the 9th shows is filled by a DVD release of a show from November 7th, in Berlin.
For the completists out there, then, the below set still occupies a crucial spot between the official releases. While Sony continues to sell us things we’ve paid for in taxes (state broadcasts and what not), they haven’t yet created the day-by-day log of Miles’ shows, perhaps because only bootlegs exist (in varying quality), or perhaps because they’ve chosen what they think is best. That subjective approach yielded the very strong It’s About That Time, which was this quintet (adding the, to my ears, superfluous Airto) on 3/7/70 (a day after two sets at the Fillmore East, both of which are covered in the Fillmore Tree). It has also caused Sony to release questionable edits of Fillmore shows on older electric-era discs, among other things.
So, while you know where these shows fit in, and you can understand why fans pulled these in particular, what to make of the music? The 1975 Tree is the distant future from this point, but the Fillmore Tree is quite close in time. What’s the point? Well, the Lost Quintet of Miles Davis, Wayne Shorter, Chick Corea, Dave Holland, and Jack DeJohnette is mythical for a reason. Where the Fillmore Tree, and the commercial releases from the same period, show Miles adding to his working group, subtracting others, and moving away from rock-influenced jazz into (slightly) jazz-influenced rock, this set is one that is less a group and sound in flux as it is a group and sound rapidly blooming (and then, sadly, dissipating).
This was the last “conventional” jazz lineup that Miles would regularly tour with. Each member had some involvement in either In A Silent Way or Bitches Brew (or both). That experience allowed this particular group to quickly move from the staples of Miles’ Second Great Quintet (saved for another day) set-list to shows/improvisations based on Bitches Brew. While it lasted, this concentrated the large-group sound of Bitches Brew into a primarily acoustic quintet show. Besides surely being appealing to purists on that count alone, the results were musically stunning. While Miles had clung to radical, abstract version of modality as much of the jazz world went full on free, this music, with these players, skipped free jazz as genre convention, and hit on sounds and developments that bear striking similarity to contemporary free improvisation. Since we have almost all of the concerts and all of the studio tape at this point, it is clear that the Lost Quintet, while showing development of its own, still made some unexpected evolutionary leap past “simple” free jazz into bizarre terrain.
So, while there are commercial releases that get around the edges of this tree, and we have a nice wealth of material from the studio sessions, the In A Silent Way sessions, and from 1970 (with sporadic playing before another leap around 1972), this was the middle point in terms of working group and studio output for Miles. It also, likely, will be your favorite music of his. Period. As such, I’ve lovingly guarded these discs in a safe place and have brought them out to compress them at 320 KBPS. I’ve diligently tagged these MP3’s according to the tree information, and I’ve added my own artwork (scavenged from the internet, edited, and posted in this photo set). I’ve split the archive in two, with six sets each. The intended organization is to download each and put them into a single folder with all the art and the folder graphic intact.
This can’t stay up forever, so get it now!
Disc 1 (3/XX/69, Duffy’s Tavern, Rochester [First Set])
Disc 2 (3/XX/69, Duffy’s Tavern, Rochester [Second Set])
Disc 3 (7/7/69, Central Park, New York)
Disc 4 (10/27/69, Teatro Sistina, Rome [First Set])
Disc 5 (10/27/69, Teatro Sistina, Rome [Second Set])
Disc 6 (11/2/69, Ronnie Scott’s Club, London)
Disc 7 (11/3/69, Salle Pleyel, Paris [First Set])
Disc 8 (11/3/69, Salle Pleyel, Paris [Second Set])
Disc 9 (11/4/69, Tivoli Konsertsal, Copenhagen)
Disc 10 (11/5/69, Folkets Hus, Stockholm [First Set])
Disc 11 (11/5/69, Folkets Hus, Stockholm [Second Set])
Disc 12 (11/9/69, De Doelen, Rotterdam)
All links and artwork updated 1/10/13.
DISCS 1-6 ARCHIVE HERE (523 MB)
DISCS 7-12 ARCHIVE HERE (708 MB)
Everything on here is good.
DUBLIMINAL BOUNCE | Juke/Footwork, Ghettotech Label in Hiroshima Japan.
dubliminalbounce.com
DBLB-020 HASEGAWA-4200/GWIK EP注目投稿日時: 2013/05/06 投稿者: DUBLIMINAL BOUNCE Artist:HASEGAWA-4200 Title:GWIK EP Release Date:2013/5/6 Cat No:DBLB-020 Format:Digital Price:Free1.Gwik pt.3(P.I.U) 2.Gwik pt.5(Poison) 3.Gwik pt.6(Along And Dance) 4.Gwik pt.7(Moscow) 5.Gwik pt.8(Reflexxx) All Track Produced b...
I completely agree. Check these out.
http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-prn2/203589_275083212607621_795065578_q.jpg
Think Tank House, Lincoln NE
In case you missed this weekend's show at the Think Tank, here are some mp3s to tide you over. What a great show! http://www.mediafire.com/?9dymwtn3ufza42d
Another good one from Dubb Parade.
Gumma In Da Tek(DBLB-017), by Dubb Parade
dubliminal-bounce.bandcamp.com
7 track album