Reorienting your mind with his late-20th century disco-pop influences, Sans Soleil‘s (a.k.a. Michael Trommer from Toronto) productions are subtlety constructed and emotive. With vocal help from singer-songwriter Genevieve Marentette, Trommer‘s “Orange-Grey” and “Somnambule” are reminscent of Carl Craig and vocalist Sarah Gregory‘s take on the classic “As Time Goes By.” Fans of Derrick May‘s Transmat label and Craig‘s Planet-E label will dig this.
Gang of Four Return the Gift
Half of Gang of Four‘s power was unspoken. Jon King‘s calls into the night about everyday life among the living dead were matched by guitarist Andy Gill‘s equal hits of clarity and chaos, and a thrash-funk rhythm section contradicted the horrors with a demand that everyone do The Hustle. Sadly, the power of the most lyrically and musically profound UK punk band was diminished when they later became a hipster name-drop. On Return the Gift King‘s declarations are still arresting and the rhythms still push over cars. Unfortunately, there are losses: Gill‘s riffs are dulled with distortion and sound pitifully generic, while many key touches, like the guitar tick-tocks on “Why Theory?” and the trapkit smacks on “Not Great Men,” are muted. Do King‘s alarms still ring in our time? Yes. Is this record an excuse not to hear the original songs? Absolutely not.
Boards of Canada The Campfire Headphase
Boards of Canada‘s 1998 classic, Music Has the Right to Children, fostered a whole sub-genre of “pastoral IDM” and drove countless bedroom musicians to revisit youths spent indulging in hip-hop and watching Canadian science documentaries. The album was a heady introduction to BoC‘s daydreams-tinged with old nightmares, hallucinations of splendors both lived and pretended, shadows of David Koresh and fallen scientists gazing at the stars from the stumps of clear-cut forests and the rooftops of cities sunken into seas. So groundbreaking was Music… that BoC has been both forgiven and criticized for barely changing their trademark sound for a decade. With their latest album, The Campfire Headphase, the duo of Marcus Eoin and Michael Sandison is caught at a crucial point: are they elders marking a triumphant return or has-beens about to be eclipsed by their students? Campfire‘s cover-a faceless kid in a melted Polaroid-and its awkward title revisit Music… As on that classic, a few of these songs chase moments of awe or curiosity that disappear before they can be truly grasped. The utterly mesmerizing “A Moment of Clarity” floats the mind into air for less than a minute, while “Ataronchronon”‘s scraping timbres are akin to having blinding sunlight shut off the world around you. Campfire often suffers from tepidness-little haunts the imagination and no tension keeps things together. But even with the drawbacks, BoC is still moving forward. The most striking change is their use of fireside, acoustic guitar riffs that add spaciousness to their songs. “Chromakey Dreamcoat” loops a dirge that blows into the wind, leaving ghostly traces. The guitarwork adds to the album‘s listlessness, sometimes sleepwalking its way to heaven as on the brilliant “Tears From the Compound Eye.” But on numbers like “Hey Saturday Sun” and “Dayvan Cowboy,” it seems as though BoC is following paths cleared by those they inspired: Bibio‘s disintegrating ballads from the English hinterlands, Four Tets porch-sitting hip-hop. “Oscar See Through Red Eye” and “Slow This Bird Down” are lukewarm trip-hop numbers, while “84 Pontiac Dream” is hypnotic but wearisome, repeating the same beats and somber hits of melody. Elsewhere on Campfire, Eoin and Sandison can be found serving up play-by-the-numbers, shoegazing indie pop. Campfires finale, “Farewell Fire,” returns to the same crossroads BoC visited on 2002‘s Geogaddi. That record had two endings, one hopeful and the other empty. “From One Source All Things Depend” (from the Japanese edition) was a sound collage of kids talking about God‘s nature, while “Magic Window” (from the non-Japanese version) contained nothing but silence.
Mr. Oizo Moustache (Half a Scissors)
Nothing seems to work right on Moustache, and that is its saving grace. Playing Daft Punk and Prefuse 73 records after leaving them to melt in a car trunk could be a somewhat accurate description. “Quentin Mr. Oizo” Dupieux‘s electro-funk rhythms fall flat on their faces, while his ‘80s retro-trash synth melodies sound like filthy Nintendo cartridges that need to be blown into. The “glitch” element here is tasteless, as when the broken-footed funk of “(ee)” is interrupted by a dying robot declaring “This is computer music, shoot or die!” Nonetheless, there is a ridiculous funkiness as things fall apart into a spectacular mess.
Rob Swift War Games
At first glance, leaving behind the highly esteemed and major label-backed X-Ecutioners crew may seem like career suicide for a turntablist in 2005. But on War Games, Rob Swift goes solo and sounds as inspired as ever as he pulls no punches in reacting to injustice that occurs everywhere from NYC to Iraq. As he often includes vocal samples of George W. addressing the nation, this album is essentially Rob‘s sonic response to the so-called War on Terror and he utilizes hard-hitting beats, ear-raising vocal samples and precise scratching to demonstrate that sometimes you can speak just as effectively with your hands.
Omni Ballyhoo
On his latest full-length outing, the deep-voiced Omni maintains a good balance of street level sensibility, humor and introspection, like the hip-hop of his LA counterparts Freestyle Fellowship and the Living Legends. Thus, it‘s only fitting that Omni enlists Mikah Nine of the Fellowship and Luckyiam.psc of the Legends to help keep the LA sound prevalent. While Omni‘s blunted flows and his slow-rolling beats are consistent and familiar sounding, they rarely give lasting impressions like the tracks of his guests. Nonetheless, if you‘re down with the LA underground, then Ballyhoo is worth a spin.
Cyne Evolution Flight
Cyne may very well be the first hip-hop act to put Gainesville, Florida on the map. And with their cool, calm and collected sound, they let it be known that their relatively remote city is worth keeping an eye on. With their sophomore album, Evolution Fight, Cyne‘s MCs Akin and Cise Star drop bars for social change, but they do so in a more even-tempered manner (à la Zion I) than most revolutionaries on the mic. And producers Speck and Enoch create refined melodies suited for enjoyment in a pair of headphones rather than your subwoofers. They may not be in your face screaming “revolution,” but their message of progression is heard loud and clear.
Various Artists The Sound of Young New York & Toronto
The premise of this series is to highlight the apparent strength and depth of New York (and now Toronto’s) more danceable indie rock acts. I say apparent because if you substituted Berlin for New York and London for Toronto, few people would know any different. The bands in question have a habit of looking. And sounding. Exactly. The same. After eight identikit tracks things do eventually get interesting. The Glass’s “Fourteen Again” demonstrates less is more where guitars and grooves are concerned. Neurotic Drum Band’s playful pastiche on early electro, “We’re Gonna Rock New York,” also undoes some damage. But it’s too little, too late.
Various Artists Planet Delsin:Interstellar Sounds of Stardust
Delsin celebrates a half-century of near faultless releases and simultaneously demonstrates the positive side of peer pressure-none of the 12 artists contributing an exclusive track here much fancied being class clown, it seems. Each of these tracks could have easily held its own on a 12″, but the contributions from Shed, $tinkworx, Yoav B, Newworldaquarium, and label boss Peel Seamus are, fittingly, out of this world. Life begins at 50.
The Boats We Made It For You
The Boats‘ second album is based largely-and at times solely-around a piano. Occasionally, a sequencer makes itself known via some stuttery passages, and a half-hearted kick-drum surfaces at one point, too; but, for the most part, it‘s just piano. Such a bare bones approach results in a fragility and intimacy that is sometimes so acute you feel like an intruder (the track titles, which are all people‘s Christian names, don‘t help in this respect); elsewhere, though, We Made It For You is as comforting as a favorite chair.
