Led Er Est – The Diver (2012) [Sacred Bones] // Grade: B+

The new Led Er Est, The Diver on Sacred Bones Records (home of Zola Jesus, Crystal Stilts, UV PØP, and Trust) is a solid slab of brilliant cold wave dredged from the concrete innards of NYC. The three piece have a stack of previous releases on Captured Tracks, Mannequin, and Weird Records along with others. Think about this to describe their sound, imagine punchy drums buried in a sea of synth and old wave scenarios equaling new wave ideas. The track “Housefire at Zumi’s” sounds like the mellow side of mid ’90s Freaky Chakra ingested and processed through the entrails of ’70s Cabaret Voltaire. Led Er Est’s more vocal works on The Diver like “Kaiyo Maru” tend to resonate like a slap back delay inside a tin can (yet still sounding clean) over a snare from Depeche Mode’s Violatorbeing used as a weapon against apathy and despondence among post-punks. “Animal Smear” sounds like a reference to Animal Bodies “Venus Transit” with it’s fast drums, old-style goth guitar and shuddered delayed vox.

What a strange story Led Er Est write with their protest dreambox of non-pop sound. I specifically site them as non-pop because it seems ridiculous how many times i see people write about how Led Er Est could have a bona fide pop song if they just did this or that. I’m pretty sure their intention is to create the lovely noise and productions they do and I see no reason why they should change anything because of a suspected “near pop” sound. I would say that any similarities to pop are entirely coincidental as the cold minimal scene is quite a protest to the bleak banality of the pop set lol ;> Maybe there was something pure in the initial ripples of the wave that has been lost in out MTV gluttony.

“Bladiator” (check the live performance from Room 205 which sounds quite different from the album but is absolutely captivating) sounds like the bizarre experience of drumming along on a cardboard box to Public Image Limited’s Flowers of Romance while a parade of synth and guitar feedback covers your head swinging like waves beating back the buried voices under the house. Growling cars and Samuel Kklovenhoof’s vocals on even the warmest tracks have a sense of divide and jaded emotions. This album is the world through charcoal glasses, beautiful cold waves.

Mount Eerie – Clear Moon (2012) [PW Elverum & Sun] // Grade: B

I am not the only one who finds it difficult to write an accurate and concise review of this, or any Mount Eerie album.  Ex-Microphones front man Phil Elverum is as elusive and artist as he seems a person.  An almost invisible personality hidden away in a small town somewhere in Washington.  Throughout these eight years, the music of Mount Eerie has matured.  What was once a little lo-fi bedroom project seems to have grown.  Still, somehow, the same spirit of personal experimentation seems to exist, even if the production values seem slightly higher.

Mount Eerie has always existed in a false sense of obscurity.  It doesn’t really matter how many copies of your albums you press, in today’s digital age people will get a chance to listen to it if they want.  Elverum, it seems, uses this faux exclusivity as a sort of mission statement.  He does not necessarily make this music for anyone but himself.  Sometimes it shows.  The majority of “Clear Moon” is a pretty dark journey.  This will be the second week in a row that I have mentioned Will Oldham influence (the last was in reference to the latest Merchandise album,) but this time the ghosts of Bonnie Prince Billy resonate from almost every pore of this release.  The same slow and dense pacing seems to exist, a drowned despair that makes the album both engaging and unlistenable at the same time.

The album works best when it is at its most adventurous.  The 4/4 swing of “House Shape” vaguely suggests dance music in some abstract way, and the pastoral “Over Dark Water” featuring  Ô Paon’s Geneviève Castré breaks a certain gray with a splash of color.  Altogether though, this album is a work of art.  It is challenging, and not really a hell of a lot of fun, but remains a completely satisfying journey.

White Fence – Family Perfume Vol. 2 (2012) [Woodsist] // Grade: C-

I’m not seeing it folks, the current, seemingly godsend deal with White Fence. Sure, that may be a bit of overstatement, but when the bloggers talk, sirens get wailing. I get the prolific part and the fact that the brainchild of Tim Presley splits his time between multiple bands (The Fall, Strange Boys) and has a rooted history with others (The Nerve Agents, Darker My Love) but as I safely balked at the first volume of Presley’s 29-song, two-album set, Family Perfume, it makes a bit of sense that the continuation of the Bay Area musician’s wobbly DIY project again falls below my mark. Released for the Woodist imprint, Presley’s second offering is, in so many words an easy-moving hunk. It’s unsteady, unfiltered, nonsensical and swirling, but at moments, par-blooms in thinned-out 60s psych pop fuzz and blithe, acoustic, country/folk gazers perfect for the afternoon laze. Smeared in DIY recording character, White Fence channel a slew of retro rangers’ skeletal form but with a lackluster body-painting of weirdo instrument appearances, tape loops, druggy haze and layered multi tracks, Family Perfume Vol. 2, even more so than its predecessor, still comes out incomplete and thin.

A look at some of the set’s 15 songs proves supportive: By the time opener “Groundskeeper Rag (Man’s Man)” gets good, percussion ramping, it just ends, like a stop button at the 1:26, “Be at Home” is a multi-layered, multi-vocal, galactic wander with sloppy, laser sounds and a line about “washing underwear in the sink” and at “Lizard’s First,” Presley’s “What’s the blues without the green” line rules whereas, the coin flips and talk about “potato trees” wafts through. Those blooming moments though, exist as well: “Makers” is a drowsy and cool tale tackling addiction, closer “King of the Decade” has its moments, “Anna” succeeds in its weirdo Leonard Cohen form and though lethargic, “I’d Sing” proves key in its arrival early on. It’s funny then, to mention the fact that through all the wonky, lo-fi noodling White Fence can produce, my early thoughts above land close to where its maker may have anticipated.

In a recent interview with Impose, Presley was asked about his so-far prolific year (there’s White Fence, the Ty Segall collaboration Hair and touring with the Strange Boys if you forgot) and his mounting song output. Responding bluntly, Presley told the outlet: “First, I’m sorry for dumping all that music. But I had to do it. I chopped it down and chopped it down and it’s still really long…But I can see how as a reviewer, both those records, you might be frustrated.” No stranger to his own hustle, as frank a response was not what I expected, though he almost summed it up for me. Presley may have given my ears an unneeded workout of sorts fishing for depth or drooping my eyes more than they needed to be during 1pm listens across White Fence’s vague, cloudy footing, his assumption for frustration is definitely off- the last time I was close to typing near that level of annoyance on these Bloglin pages was the steaming pile of grandiose confusion that was Loutallica’s Lulu and I can assure you, Vol. 2 may be off-the-cuff, long and somewhat oblong, it’s certainly not that bad.

Burzum - Umskiptar (2012) [Byelobog] // Grade: D

Blah blah blah, Varg did that. Blah blah blah, Varg said this. Who gives a fuck? Ok, sure Varg has said and done some batshit crazy things in his past but this review is about his work, not the musician. Save your hate for my critique of his music, not the man himself.

Since being released back into the free world, Varg has dropped three Burzum albums on the hungry masses. Belus, Fallen and now his 2012 album, Umskiptar. The lyrics for this album, unsurprisingly, are from a Norse poem entitled “Völuspá”.

Based on various pagan translations, Umskiptar means “Metamorphoses” and the album is a self-described return to the roots of Burzum’s early work. 66 stanzas make up its entirety and even though the lyrics aren’t in English, you can decipher their beauty through the elegant atmosphere Varg has created.

Everything about Umskiptar plays like Fallen and nothing like Belus. Whereas the latter was an obvious by-product of isolationism, Fallen began to show Varg’s return to civilization. The themes present, the power in the music and the overall feel of this release is a large improvement in Varg’s modern work but damn, it takes a bit for you to warm up to it.

There are very few tracks that I’d consider as epic as say, “Jesus’ Tod” or even his more modern music. It’s not until the fourth track, “Hit Helga Tré” or “The Sacred Tree” that I’m moved at all. There’s something familiar about the tremelo picking and the ghastly overlaid vocals. Varg’s raspy and vapid tone is eerie but there’s something very honest about the sound.

“Æra (Honour)” and “Heiðr (Esteem)” are where the album begins to fall apart. Not in any unlistenable way, just in the self-described “wholeness”. As a foreigner to the Norse tongue, it’s difficult to understand the transformation that Varg is purveying. “Valgaldr (Song of the Fallen)” continues this descent and by the time you’re in the last few cuts, it’s almost entirely spoken word with minimal instrumentation to get you through the introspective ramblings.

So where does that leave us? Probably one of the best black metal artists of all time just comes across as bored or unenthused. Still, there are those who will argue that Varg can do whatever he wants and it’ll be better than 90% of other bands. Personally, I’m not buying it. Other than the nostalgic feeling I get picking up on a few cues in his music, Umskiptar just isn’t doing it for me, especially when compared to Fallen.

Judging from its matter-of-fact plot synopsis – “A drama focused on five months in the life of pedophile who keeps a 10-year-old boy locked in his basement.” – first-time director/writer Markus Schleinzer‘s drama Michael isn’t going to appeal to a wide audience. It’s certainly the darkest character study I’ve seen in recent memory and also the most well crafted. Schleinzer, a disciple of Michael Haneke (Funny Games),  presents the character of Michael without passing any judgement, which makes it all the more unsettling.

Michael is a grumpy middle-class insurance salesman who from 9-5 works in his cubicle, begrudgingly goes out for drinks with his co-workers, and even goes on ski trips with them. But in general he’s testy and tends to keep to himself. When he returns home in the evenings, he shares some quality time with Wolfgang, a young boy who Michael keeps locked in the basement. They share awkward dinners together. They watch TV before bed. Michael even takes Wolfgang for a nice afternoon at the petting zoo. That wasn’t meant to be a euphemism – he seriously takes him to a petting zoo.

And, you know, Michael is a pedophile with a kidnapped boy in his basement, so…he does things to Wolfgang. Schleinzer wisely only shows us what we need to see, which is still highly disturbing but never graphic. These moments make up a very small fraction of the film and are cleverly implied by Michael washing up afterwards and marking off the date in his day-planner. We’re always with Michael, played with maximum creepiness by Michael Fuith, as he works, shops, and cleans his home. After a while, his routine feels normal – too normal. And that’s where the brilliance of the film lies. This evil man is a slave to routine like a lot of us and it’s really disconcerting to watch.

Michael’s world starts to spiral due to uncontrollable events and the secret of his boy-toy is threatened when a co-worker takes interest in Michael. On top of this intrusion, Wolfgang is getting lonely during the day and wants a brother (he already has a TV, what else does a little boy need?!). But even through these complications, the film’s bleak tone is never compromised by a police investigation or a pounding chase between Michael and an escaped Wolfgang. The end is sure to spark heated conversation between viewers.

Michael is a brilliant debut film that puts us at the dinner table with pure evil. The final 10 minutes are absolutely agonizing – I was squirming in my seat from the unbearable suspense (and from hanging out with a pedophile for so long). It’s surprisingly hilarious in places as well, as it satires the parent-child relationship. The horrible sexual abuse is kept off-screen while the real horror of the disgustingly aberrant routine of Michael and Wolfgang’s home life is front and center.

I highly recommend catching Michael on Netflix Watch Instantly before it’s gone. I also recommend watching it with someone else – a grandparent maybe – because you’re going to want to talk about the end.

Killer Mike – R.A.P. Music (2012) [Williams Street] // Grade: A+

This record was a long time in the making. Long before Killer Mike and El-P were connected via Williams Street (is it funny that cartoon network would have such an impact on hip hop that they’d become the impetus for this record?) there was a palpable void in the United States where hip hop had once held court. A music that had once been a potent outlet for dissent, had slowly become one mainly used to showcase wealth. But, the shift in hip hop wasn’t arbitrary. The creation of CDOs, and financial institutions’ subsequent efforts to exploit citizens through a combination of CDOs and unrealistic mortgages created a bubble of false wealth from the early 2000s through to 2008 or so.

Through CDOs financial institutions were able to manufacture false capital, and because they were abused to such an extreme extent the whole of the nation was affected by the flow of this false capital. It moved through the music industry with a particularly acute affect. If you look at rap music from 2000 through to 2008 you will no doubt find a growing legion of rappers defined by grotesque opulence, and grossly disproportionate amounts of money when compared those who came before them. This is the direct result of banks selling mortgages to citizens who could not afford them, then selling the risk on those loans to other banks at an exaggerated rate, squarely fucking the system out both ends.

The affect on hip hop was dramatic as the whole genre shifted to gradually become a giant advertisement for luxury brands, and the soundtrack for a lifestyle borne of the indulgences of false wealth. And when economic collapse ended the flow of this capital, and it all came crashing down it became painfully evident that we had gone quite some time without potent voices of dissent. Artists who in other times would have been a voice against the path our country took, were bought out with that very same false wealth that was destroying the nation. But, through all of that Killer Mike steadily built a reputation as someone who is dissenting—a real rapper who is a voice for, and in his community. During a time of struggle, Mike is offering the soundtrack to survival.

It’s almost odd that Mike’s career has run in tandem with this wave of economic fluctuation, but at the same time fitting. And so, when we need him most Mike has risen to the occasion and taken his art one step further. That’s not to say that previous efforts have been sub-par, but here we find Mike in the midst of music that is frankly indispensable. We needed this record as a nation. These are unsure times, and Mike is a very very certain voice. He is about survival, and that’s what this record is about. When we spoke earlier this year he stressed the title: “Rebellious African People’s Music”. He related the importance of many musical traditions (funk, gospel, spirituals, jazz, et cetera) to the survival of peoples of African descent. And while the obvious connection is the African part, I’m more interested in focusing on the surviving part.

Mike is a survivor for sure. You don’t last for 12 years as a rapper who never had a #1 single if you’re not a survivor. So who better than Killer Mike, who is clearly learned in survival, to guide us through the times when we have to accept that we must take our survival into our own hands? He’s a great example of that for sure. The country is burning, and Mike is one of a few people willing to talk about it, and looking to move people to prepare for how to survive after the burning embers of a decade of fiduciary pillaging and looting have cooled. And that is only the existential parts of the music. If you’ll remember from the Killer Mike and El-P interviews we published on the Bloglin earlier this year I talked to both Mike and El-P about the significance of this record in the history of rap music.

There was a time, a long time, when a record like this was not only impossible, but opposed. As the inner workings of the record industry were telling El-P that hip hop was dead, they were being financed by an institution that simply doesn’t exist any longer. And with the fall of that institution a great deal of artifice, and posturing has been removed from hip hop music. And, in this more candid state the meeting of El-P and Killer Mike comes together and rings truer than I could have ever imagined. It’s been a while since I listened to an El-P record, but just as he was there to define the beginning of a community running counter to the workings of a vapid institution, he is here again to define the ending of the same institution which ran counter to his earlier records as part of Company Flow, and later as Def Jux.

Yes, this is the meeting of two great minds, but it’s also the meeting of two distinct eras. There is so much more than just El-P making beats, and Killer Mike rapping. They essentially serve as avatars for two very distinct populations within this nation that have become increasingly indistinguishable over the course of the proliferation of the internet. There was a time when the overlap of El-P and Killer Mike’s audiences was slim to none. But not only that, the mentality behind the division was vehemently reinforced by the whole value system of hip hop. “Only this is real, and anything else that sounds like this, but isn’t this, isn’t real.” But we’ve seen hip hop turn from an incredibly reductive and emaciating means of defining itself, to this current renaissance in which all styles flourish welcomely and equally. This record is a clear indication that we are in the midst of the internet age. Without a doubt from the involvement of Williams Street, to the unlikely combination of artists, to the nature of the content, this is rap for today. Like, right now right now today. Amazing.

Teen Daze – All of Us, Together (2012) [Lefse] // Grade: D-

If we keep getting albums more like All of Us, Together, and the actually talented stalwarts of the genre continue to move away to better things, then I fear we might one day look back at chillwave with the same powerful facepalm as Nu-Metal. That (might) be a slight exaggeration, but Teen Daze’s debut full-length is just that ire inducing.

Beyond the fact that it is recorded and mixed well, I really have nothing good to say about this record. It is so inoffensive as to become offensive. I would have been more accepting of this maybe 2 years ago, when the tenets of the genre were still being demarcated, but at this point something so obviously formulaic is basically inexcusable. Perhaps this is the pitfall of building up a series of singles and demos over several years without an official release, as Teen Daze has done. There’s something to be said for putting down a legitimate album, the finality of it that will force you to close some sort of door and move on to something at least slightly different.

There’s nothing here to make the album stand out from any other post-postal service beach inflected “chill” electronica, almost like it was constructed to replace actual songs for a company that didn’t feel like paying licensing fees. The laziness extends to the lack of vocals on several songs which are desperately in need of them. I’m sure this all sounds painfully harsh, but All of Us, Together, an album ostensibly devoted to positivity and “chillness” has managed to make me quite mad.

Saint Etienne – Words and Music (2012) [Heavenly] // Grade: B-

Saint Etienne came up at the exact wrong time for me. The 90s. Junior high / High school. Grunge. Rap. Death Metal. Gabber. I had NO TIME for pop music. None. Sure, I watched the Top 50 (yeah, there were 50 where I grew up)… I didn’t pay much attention to it though. Sure, I heard Only Love Can Break Your Heart and Nothin Can Stop Us. I wasn’t deaf. I was angry!

You know what else I heard? The remixes. Kenny Dope, Chemical Dust Brothers, Underworld, Autechre. Crossover remixes didn’t use to be as ubiquitous as they are now. Nevertheless I was probably more exposed to Saint Etienne than their originals – whoever picked the remixers certainly had good musical sense. And in a marketing move that is both smart and not that rare anymore, Words And Music By Saint Etienne, their new album, comes packaged with a CD of remixes and another one of dubs.

The original record is OK. Pretty much what you can expect from the band, I guess. No surprise in the sound. Most (if not all) songs talk about music, or at least the experience of music. Of records. Of concerts. Of not being a cynical asshole like me. There’s melancholy in the lyrics and in pretty much every note: no modern band would dare make a song about “making out to the DJ” or really waiting in line to see your favorite band, etc. The most notable track in my opinion is “Record Doctor”, a 53 second vocal song: “he’ll reach in his bag and give you a dose of pure heaven.” There is also a nice moment of instrumentation on “I Threw It All Away”, for a folky Tiger Bay moment. All in all, they didn’t need to reinvent the wheel, so they didn’t.

The remix package is nothing but splendid: Erol Alkan, 2 Bears, Club Clique, Golden Filter, Muddyloop… Pretty much every sough-after electro-pop act in the (mostly British) universe is there to lend an update to a band steeped in tradition. The remix CD acts as an after party to the art show that was the album. Forget the past, let’s just dance the night away. Only about half of the artists make significant use of the vocals, which clearly reframes the album into what electronic music sounds like these days. It also removes a good chunk of the personality of the tracks, into a more atmospheric, expansive sound which highlights how subtle the originals were.

It is hard not to listen to this album as the work of 40-somethings. If your forget that fact, it is a pretty, summery, dancey album that has good potential to provide a soundtrack for all generations of listeners. A popular record. But at its heart it is kind of a moody, generational theme for a very specific crowd. One that grew up loving sensible music, raised on unmediated social experiences. Maybe the most significant achievement of this album is that encapsulates the evolution of Saint Etienne as artists, seeing their icons go (weird listening to them mentioning Donna Summer the day she died) and seeing the next guys come up. A Kunstlerplatte of sorts – and if you can understand this term (or the album cover), chances are you will love the record.

Guided by Voices – Class Clown Spots a UFO (2012) [Fire] // Grade: B

If January’s Let’s Go Eat The Factory, the first release from the “original” GBV lineup since 1996, both disappointed and relieved by sounding “just sort of like another Guided By Voices record” (as our reviewer The Holloweyed said at the time, then having to chug through a relatively similar release less than six months later makes this unfortunate attribute all the more apparent. Which sucks, because divorced from the context and aggressively edited (this is a Guided By Voices record after all), Class Clown Spots a UFO is sprinkled with some great moments that remind you how GBV is one of the few guitar bands that could really shift between indie rock, psychedelic, garage, and brawn beer songs and pull it off. Cohesion was never their strong point, but the songs were united by their very similar quality: excellent.

Not everything on Class Clown Spots a UFO is excellent. In classic fashion, many songs clock in at around a minute, few stretching beyond two. But for once I would have liked some of those shorter bits expanded (“Chain To The Moon”) and others like “Tyson’s High School” would work perfectly as 50 second burst but lose steam as they chug along. Often it seems like Robert Pollard is leading the rest of the band on a sort of wild musical goose chase (let’s not picture that, shall we) where there might not actually be an end goal in sight. The record works best when another member seizes control, especially Tobin Sprout, who’s departure in 1996 was clearly the biggest loss to the “original sound”.

Sprout, first of all, has gotten much better in the studio. It was a tough road for them as they got older, because I think people expected them to refine their early 4-track sound, which really is a look you can only sport for so long before it stops making sense. Pollard responded by getting far too shiny, but Sprout appears to have mastered a happy medium as evidenced on opener “He Rises! Our Union Bellboy”, which got me really excited about the record. Still, it’s sort of telling that the best song on the record is the title track, a pop gem that finds Pollard and Sprout trading really great vocals. Thing is, that song was written by the two way back in the 80s. Hey, but they can still pull it off today. And that’s pretty cool too.

From the ’60s-style promotional video for the Arboria Institute that opens the film to the final jarring minutes of the film, Beyond the Black Rainbow brings you under its control and lulls you into a visual and audio trance. During your immersive state of hypnosis, it might be easy to overlook the heady themes of writer-director Panos Cosmatos’ debut feature. Against a throbbing, psychadelic backdrop, Cosmatos tells a story of repression and contrition set in an alternate 1983 that will not be easily shaken from your memory. It’s a beautiful nightmare I didn’t want to end.

In a reticent organization called the Arboria Initiative, Dr. Barry Nyle (Michael Rogers) examines and treats a female patient named Alena (Eva Allen), who’s actually more of a prisoner. The institute’s stated goal is to explore the possibilities of the human psyche and find inner peace through the use of mind-altering chemicals. Part of Nyle’s research appears to be to track the evolution of Alena’s psychological evolution and telekinesis. That’s my theory at least. As the movie unfurls through flashback and Nyle’s interaction with his mother and Dr. Arboria, we see how truly disturbing their work is. It’s obviously  taking a hefty toll on Nyles as well.

There’s no explanation or clear exposition, which is fine by me. Cosmatos’ film is absolutely stunning and meticulous in its presentation. It’s not a movie you can throw on while throwing back beers with your boys. It demands your attention and if you commit to this film, you’ll be floored by how intensely hypnotizing it truly is. The film itself is a mind-altering narcotic – every aspect from the ambiguous performances to the ambient score hold you under a trippy sci-fi spell. Cosmatos’ ambition pays off in spades.

Newcomer Eva Allen delivers a great performance as Alena, but Michael Rogers (Hellraiser: Hellseeker) steals the show as the repressed Barry Nyle. When we first meet him, he appears in control of Alena and himself. Then Cosmastos and Rogers  flip the script and present us with a character deeply complex and tortured in a way through his work with Arboria. In the end, Nyle’s sheds his skin (in a manner of speaking) and transforms into a terrifying boogeyman that gave me the wicked bad willies.

There are some really funny moments in the film – Nyle’s disinterest in his mother’s leftovers was a great bit – and some terrifying ones too. I never thought someone licking glass would be anything but silly, but it made my skin crawl in BBR. Overall the movie never breaks you from its pulsing rhythm of sight and sound. The sound design melds into Jeremy Schmidt’s fantastic score – enhancing the hypnotizing effect of the meticulous visuals. And oh god, the visuals. Drenched in neons and the blackest blacks, the set and costume designs are incredible in their simplicity.

A lot of morons are writing Beyond the Black Rainbow off as an effortless homage to ’80s sci-fi and Kubrick. The influences are obviously there, but Cosmatos’ film is a beast all its own that’s going to have people discussing their conflicting interpretations for years to come. A simple plot enhanced with serious themes, BBR is an immersive feast and a brilliant addition to the lo-fi sci-fi horror genre. Stare into the glowing triangle and enjoy the trip!