that last one was especially for my fb sexual crew
― Tim F, Thursday, 14 December 2017 19:36 (ten months ago) Permalink
Saw Yemi Alade in a late-night gig in DC this year. Yes to your description...
― curmudgeon, Thursday, 14 December 2017 19:53 (ten months ago) Permalink
― human and working on getting beer (longneck), Thursday, 14 December 2017 21:38 (ten months ago) Permalink
Bicep - Vale
It’s easy to grasp why Bicep are so rated, and then, having done so, to promptly underrate them, to handwave away their appeal with a slightly impatient accession to the obvious. If it doesn’t need to be stated, why state it?
There are a whole bunch of interconnected reasons for this, I think, many of them a matter of context. One is that the duo’s slow, steady ascension to the top of the Mixmag heap has been so unsurprising, so foreseeable, a gradual process of their own tropes and the broader festival-driven environment aligning through a series of minor tweaks to each. Another is simply that they’re British, and there’s something a bit unseemly and 1993 about lionising a pasty white male duo from the isles making heavily melodic mainstream dance music, in an era when at least parts of the surrounding cultural ecosystem finally seems capable of fostering and promoting other narratives.
The sonics feed into this. Listening to this year’s belated debut album, I am put in mind of Future Sound of London’s Accelerator, Spooky’s “Little Bullet Pt. 1” and The Drum Club’s self-titled album, all great but largely unremembered (“Papua New Guinea” aside) pitstops in the development of UK prog house, whose successive attempts at melding together longform structures, trancey melodies and graceful percussion all staked a fleeting claim on the crossover middlebrow. Bicep’s recent Radio 1 Essential Mix, which for long stretches sounds like an update of a Sasha & Digweed Northern Exposure set, hardly helps matters.
For my part, such resemblances comprise a great deal of the charm: Bicep’s echoes of a lost consensus of middlebrow, middle-class dance tropes is about as effective a form of drug-memory laced wistfulness as I’ve found, and the particular contours of their revivalism allows a combination of toughness and intricacy that sidesteps many of the stylistic debates that have haunted dance music for the past two decades or so, mostly by pretending they never happened.
The specifics count here, in particular the way that Bicep combine house and percussive syncopation in spiky, mid-tempo breakbeat (“Glue”, “Spring”) or even 2-step (“Opal”) grooves underpinning their drawn out melodic spin-cycles: these tunes are rollers in a way I rarely hear these days, inviting a curious mixture of tension and relaxation, the rhythm fascinating despite its repetition. Or perhaps the spiked rhythms are less interesting in themselves than in the interpenetration between them and the melodic detail (burbling basslines, chiming bell chords, a disconsolate diva’s wail), each delicately jabbing into the other’s spaces in a manner that can sound like two 3D printers making love.
According to crossover album-dance logic, “Vale”, the album’s sole vocal cut (sorta; it sounds like a dance tune sampling some other pop tune, to be honest) should be some kind of ostentatious genre excursion. And it does feel a bit slower than a peaktime Bicep track, though this is mostly an aural illusion: despite rolling at a house tempo, the tune’s stalking, three kicks per bar rhythm feels measured and feline. In every other respect it’s a perfect expression of the Bicep formula: the stiff, stop-start groove sounding like an engine revving up and backfiring, the bass spurts and eerie synth chords gradually rising and choking the tune in a kind of nostalgia-for-comedowns-past portentousness.
The breakdown is magical: an Arctic sea of duelling synth-pipes into which that rolling groove plunges and seeks to carve a course. As with all the album’s most banging moments (see the aforementioned “Spring”, “Kites”, “Rain”, Aura”), there’s a machinic austerity at work here, a sense that Bicep have captured techno’s feelings about itself in the absence of human interference. Like most any romantics of robotic emotionalism, it’s an entirely fictional allusion, but it’s one to which I’ll happily to succumb.
― Tim F, Wednesday, 20 December 2017 10:39 (nine months ago) Permalink
nightwork is amazing (as is the write up). immediately shot to one of my favourites of the year. tired, resilient and weary, of the streets, and hallway stairs. also i know not strictly part of this year’s write up but i hadn’t heard sexual before and my god.
― sir dumblebee hitler the first (Fizzles), Wednesday, 20 December 2017 10:42 (nine months ago) Permalink
OneMind - Early Dazehttps://youtu.be/TVR6F7Ngqr4
There are many things I miss about mid-nineties jungle, but one aspect that’s hard to put into words is the curious emotional ambivalence its best tunes so often imparted, that oxymoronic mix of steel-eyed alertness and paranoia with melting dreaminess. At its expansive mid-nineties pinnacle, in exploring literally-never-before-heard sonic hinterlands, jungle also frequently pioneered what you might call emotional between-states: violently happy, gently murderous.
“Early Daze” - a tune which seems happy to call back to just about every era of jungle’s history - channels that ambivalence in part through its frequent return to that most inscrutable of breaks, Apache, those high-pitched, quicksilver bongo hits somehow evoking (or invoking) the unbearable lightness of being even as they slugs you across the jaw. It’s a broader theme, the tune expertly navigating the intersection of light and dark previously trod by Photek’s “The Water Margin” or Metalheadz’ “Angel”: disembodied diva sighs swirl around airy rave chords and compressed, late nineties d&b bass bleeps. But most of all this vibe resides in the rhythm, delicate but sharp, and endlessly mutating; the way it ceaselessly cycles between motifs, seeming to up the ante with each frenzied hop, as synth riffs sizzle and fall like acid rain around it.
― Tim F, Wednesday, 20 December 2017 21:16 (nine months ago) Permalink
Carmen Villain – Planetarium (Gigi Masin Remix)/(Gigi Masin Alternate Version)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjiHofJhHmA
The original “Planetarium” is spectral in both senses of the word, an impressionistic vapour of piano fumbles and sighs and Carmen’s own voice, sometimes spoken word and improvised, sometimes angelic and choral, somewhere between Jane Siberry’s “Sweet Incarnadine” and Julia Holter’s “Hello Stranger”, and like them capturing a siren-like prettiness-in-absence, the whispers of a dream whose details slip further away the more you try to fix it in your memory.
A perfect song, then, to be tackled by Gigi Masin, producer or co-producer of some of the most memorable forgettable-ambient music of the past few years (without even tackling his 1980s work). Gigi’s first take starts by playing Carmen’s voice backwards over glowing, echoing chords, before the glossolalia reconciles into the gentle, probing question, “Sometimes we get so lonely, are you lonely out there?” From there the tune gradually spins itself into a soft, motoric E2-E4 synth chug festooned with Carmen’s sighs and talking cure rambling, soft and heavy and close to the mic: “One day, I will give myself a glowing review: ‘Well done, your mother must be sooo proud… of how good you are… at pretending… pretending… pretending… you should be satisfied...’” Eventually, the tune decides to become a house epic, intermittent Orbital-esque synth bleeps and sprinkler system percussion hovering four feet above a becalmed dancefloor.
Gigi’s “alternate version” takes the tune in the other direction, returning to the ambient-as-perfect-instagram-filter nourishment of Talk to the Sea and the Gaussian Curve albums: slowly descending piano chords letting the air out of the world, as wind instruments and guitar and strings all moan softly in the background; the song an ice sculpture would hear in its head as it quietly melts into the floor. Now the effect is closer to the Kate Bush of “Snowflake”, its gentle repetition evoking a kind of meditative, satiated sadness, a state of depression so attractive in its formal loveliness that you could easily drown in it.
― Tim F, Saturday, 23 December 2017 06:05 (nine months ago) Permalink
this was goooorgeous
― shackling the masses with plastic-wrapped snack picks (sic), Saturday, 23 December 2017 07:23 (nine months ago) Permalink
Hadn't heard those Gigi Masin remixes before, for new stuff I think I prefer his contribution to Dekmantel 10 Years. Something about the breathy vocals and spoken word on this...
― MikoMcha, Saturday, 23 December 2017 09:25 (nine months ago) Permalink
Thanks for writing these Tim.
― Mercer Finn, Thursday, 28 December 2017 12:17 (nine months ago) Permalink
ditto, thanks tim! Great reading
― nxd, Thursday, 28 December 2017 15:40 (nine months ago) Permalink
yes this hellyear was now worth it
― Listen to my homeboy Fantano (D-40), Thursday, 28 December 2017 19:03 (nine months ago) Permalink
― etc, Tuesday, 2 January 2018 23:30 (nine months ago) Permalink
PVRIS - What's Wronghttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zj4iQItsJSY
If one was genuinely trying to create a 2017 equivalent to The Cure’s most outrageously lurid-yet-successful attempts to seduce the world through self-disgust (rather than just record straightforward homages to Disintegration; I assume there are bands that do this but don’t know who they are?), what sort of stylistic coordinates would be proper to invoke so as to give your glittering gloom-pop a decent equivalent chance of crossover to broader ears?
In the case of PVRIS, already purveyors of a remarkably succinct and efficient mechanised post-emo-pop heavily influenced by Paramore’s second through fourth albums, streamlining hardly seemed necessary – if anything, over-slickness seems to me likely to play against a band like this commercially, losing the original appeal and fans without coming anywhere near close enough to actual chart-pop to win a replacement audience. In any event, it appears that they failed: I never hear about this band’s 2017 album either in my personal channels or in the wider world, so whatever impact it has had was probably a quiet thud on the floor as it fell between two stools. But I love it in all its streamlined Apple Music Playlist About Teenage Depression glory.
To me, “What’s Wrong” seems too monumental to easily wear the tag of “slick”, but I think I’m wrong on this, and it’s telling that the first song it made me think of was Taylor’s “Style” (itself a bit of a genre excursion for the artist involved). Every element here feels sculpted for current (or at least the last half decade of) proclivities: the “oh oh oh-oh-oh” backing vocals, the chugging one-note bass that rises from verse to pre-verse, the descending guitar riff that sounds like a synthesizer (or is the other way around), even the insectile chitter of the hi-hats in the bridge. This is misery mainlined, all extraneous processes jettisoned to leave only the purest hit of disaffected youth, expressed in a musical and lyrical language of utmost universality. As someone with relatively generic emotions, I appreciate the ease with which PVRIS are able to translate quite specific concerns into a kind of adolescent lingua franca – albeit not in a manner that has necessarily translated into great popular success. But this sounds like the kind of song that does surprisingly well amongst rock fans in Europe and South America.
If singer Lynn Gunn loses anything to Robert Smith or (pre-2017) Taylor in the wallowing stakes, it’s that she doesn’t spend much time on florid description; nor does she even fully adopt Hayley Williams’ more stripped-backed penchant for running with a metaphor. Instead, nearly everything is melodramatically declaratory: “Take the mirror from the wall so I can't see myself at all / Don't wanna see another damn inch of my skull.” On the other hand, I love her declarations, which in themselves seem to reject florid description as the preserve of people with more imagination than pain – or as she puts it more bluntly, in a broad-spectrum sub-tweet hidden in a chorus: “Don’t need a metaphor for you to know I’m miserable.”
― Tim F, Tuesday, 2 January 2018 23:41 (nine months ago) Permalink
― flamenco drop (BradNelson), Wednesday, 3 January 2018 02:00 (nine months ago) Permalink
ah holy shit what have i been doing not listening to the new pvris album all year
― flamenco drop (BradNelson), Wednesday, 3 January 2018 02:40 (nine months ago) Permalink
brad I had assumed you were disappointed and didn't want to talk about it!
― Tim F, Wednesday, 3 January 2018 02:53 (nine months ago) Permalink
surprise (or not) i LOVE IT
― flamenco drop (BradNelson), Wednesday, 3 January 2018 02:53 (nine months ago) Permalink
there's something going on in "what's wrong" that makes me think of late-'90s pop? idk why, gettin' weird slow disco goth jennifer paige vibes
― flamenco drop (BradNelson), Wednesday, 3 January 2018 02:56 (nine months ago) Permalink
this has been bugging me quite a bit, I feel like that feeling when you've been swimming and have water in one of your ears and then suddenly it slips out and it's like "welcome to realiti"
― Tim F, Wednesday, 3 January 2018 02:57 (nine months ago) Permalink
Lynn covering "Crush" would be goth ultra plus one
tbh i had trouble getting into it a bit & wasn't sure if maybe it was too subtle genre-ist for me which is a hypocritical expectation coming from me obv
esp because all that really means is i wasnt giving it enough time to really get a handle on its surfaces
― Listen to my homeboy Fantano (D-40), Wednesday, 3 January 2018 07:24 (nine months ago) Permalink
i listened to Neiked - Sexual like 500 times today thx Tim <3
― flopson, Thursday, 4 January 2018 04:35 (nine months ago) Permalink
Welcome to the Sexual Club, flopson.
Someday everyone will feel the way that we feel.
― Tim F, Thursday, 4 January 2018 13:37 (nine months ago) Permalink
Octo Octa – Hidden Truthhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5Cw6aIopaw
Octo Octa’s Where Are We Going? was one of my favourite albums of 2017: a deep house album achieving a rare combination of grace and drive, it is sensual yet melancholy, sleekly propulsive like the best efforts from The Art Department (compare the gorgeous “On Your Lips” to that duo’s “Vampire Night Club” or “I C U”), yet gesturing towards the expansive sense of becalmed drift more readily associated with DJ Sprinkles. The album’s track titles underscore this aim: “Adrift”, “Until The Moon Sets”, “No More Pain (Promises To A Younger Self)”. If describing house as “redemptive” seems largely reflexive at this point, an unexamined metaphorical impulse drained of almost all its meaning, Octo Octa achieves perhaps the most that can be achieved at this late hour, spooling film after film against the wall of our nostalgic recollection depicting those moments from our pasts when that description seemed literally true, that this music could restore and protect and nourish us and make us whole.
“Hidden Truth” is the b-side to a non-album single, and its title is typically evocative and accurate: the cricket chirp percussion, the softly slashing snares, the amorphous, quavering synth chords and the warmest of all bumping basslines creating a ten-minute grid that could be a transparent temple, a place of acquiescent submission to the inevitability of the groove’s progression; perhaps the hidden truth here is the necessity of this submission, the almost religious ecstasy of demanding nothing from this groove but to bask in the glow of its own firm self-regard. Like the best moments on the album (“Preparation Rituals”, “Where Are We Going Pt. 2”), there’s something almost trance-inspired about the tune’s fluttering melodies (if it helps, listen to Octo Octa as an othered, americanised risposte to the festival triumphalism of Bicep), but “Hidden Truth” is even more rigidly subservient to house’s boxy structures and strictures, and I delight in the monumental predictability of every sound arriving and disappearing at precisely the moment which was always intended for it from time immemorial.
That this makes the tune amongst my favourite of her efforts probably says less about Octo Octa’s craft than about my enjoyment of it. Meeting in the middle, we could propose a certain paradoxical inverse relationship between relaxation and tension in Octo Octa’s house grooves: the more the rhythms lean into funk, the more they roll, the more they seem to evoke a particular time and place, a kind of topography and geography of meaning; whereas these sterner, sharper efforts create a space of pure emptiness around the body, a blank slate, an erasure and foreclosure of what is in favour of a notion of what could be that is too wide-open for content. Where are we going? Perhaps the most we can ask from house now is to induce in us a state of always arriving home to a place that is, precisely, in the middle of nowhere.
― Tim F, Thursday, 4 January 2018 16:33 (nine months ago) Permalink
I'm sorry I just found this thread.
― self-clowning oven (Murgatroid), Thursday, 4 January 2018 16:40 (nine months ago) Permalink
Little Big Town – Lost in Californiahttps://soundcloud.com/littlebigtown/lost-in-california
Little Big Town themselves refer to “Lost in California” as “Hillbilly Sade”, one of those annoyingly evocative encapsulations that artists and bands sometimes stumble upon which then forever determines and pre-ordains all of your critical reactions; or all of mine, at least. In truth, “Lost in California” doesn’t really sound like Sade (and certainly not a hillbilly version thereof), though the idea is not totally off-base: what the country group gestures towards with this tag, I think, is the idea of a kind of surface-level smoothness harbouring hidden depths, the sense of immense concentration and effort expended to create a mirage of languorous ease, so as, in turn, to suggest that concentration and ease are not in fact always opposites, but both necessary components of any kind of absolute presentism, any total being-in-the-moment, which is the Sade-like state (think “Cherish the Day”) which “Lost in California” seeks to invoke. But anyone expecting a literal country-meets-soul collision may be disappointed.
In any event, we don’t need to stretch so far to arrive at a precedent for this gorgeous, seductive concoction, as I’m reminded more readily of the soft blushes and bruises flowering across the surface of the relaxed adult-contemporary pop of Sarah McLachlan’s Surfacing: the dreamlike expanses of “I Love You”, the purple lightning sparks and shadows of “Sweet Surrender”, perhaps most of all the way the soulful yearn of “Witness” was set against an ambient hum that could have been sampled from Talk Talk’s “After The Flood”. On “Lost in California” the resemblance is immediate, with an achingly slow fade-in punctured by a drum machine’s fitful stutter, less a beginning than a resumption, as spidery guitar runs announce with great and commanding clarity that this song is going to be a fever-dream wander through a stark expanse of joshua trees. And sure enough, Karen Fairchild opens gently with: “There’s a long stretch of desert through the canyon…” It’s in the way the guitar and keyboard stabs blend and dissolve into each other, and in the gently ascending synth or fingerpicked arpeggios over a tidal bass groove in an extended, please-don’t-end outro; throughout, the sound of the sound is so tangible and viscous, it’s like a delightful film swirling over the melody, every moment sounding pre-stained with something like sepia; or maybe it’s like how the haze of hot air over a summer road is always more intense, more intensely rippling, in the memory of lost summers gone than in whatever reality can muster.
The resemblance extends to Karen Fairchild’s vocals, all delicate phrasing and long smooth sustains and a certain knowing understatement, wisely creating space for the arrangement to carry much of the emotional heft, so that Fairchild can position herself as a bemused observer of her own fantasy. “Whisper in my ear / dreamin’ disappear / say you’ll take me / where the world unwinds / lost in California…” I doubt there’s anything intentional (even indirectly) in that resemblance, which if anything runs the other way around despite what a historical chronology would suggest: that state of bemused satiation seems to me more a country trope than anything else. It’s the situation of this desired state within a context so yearning, so fragile, so redolent of an ache for something lost (in a space, in a state, yes, but also in time) that makes this song so startling and so singular. For there lies the further turn of the screw that both Sade and her hillbilly followers understand, which is that we are or were only ever “in the moment” when looking back: our present only emerges into view, only flourishes to take up the entire screen, when it is already in the rearview mirror.
― Tim F, Thursday, 4 January 2018 18:36 (nine months ago) Permalink
^^^ this is the best song in the world. i had no idea they considered it "hillbilly sade," little big town otm (in a more or less indirect way)
― flamenco drop (BradNelson), Thursday, 4 January 2018 18:38 (nine months ago) Permalink
Wau @ "Lost in California" & that description. Had missed it as it wasn't one of the singles. Had also missed that Octa Octa track (a b-side!); glad to see someone make a DJ Sprinkles comparison as I was a little worried by own comparisons were lazy biographical pattern recognition rather than on any sonic merit.
― etc, Saturday, 6 January 2018 01:33 (nine months ago) Permalink
I haven’t popped by the boards in too long but I’m up early on a Saturday and saw the annual Tim thread and am suddenly very grateful to dig back into all 5he music I didn’t hear last year.
― no longer in MTL (Alex in Montreal), Saturday, 6 January 2018 11:14 (nine months ago) Permalink
best song i listened in 2017, no doubt.
― Nourry, Saturday, 6 January 2018 16:22 (nine months ago) Permalink
this is the best song in the world
I want to poll all the songs brad has said this about
― Simon H., Saturday, 6 January 2018 17:04 (nine months ago) Permalink
i have a running spotify playlist though obv it’s not exhaustive bc i say it probably once a day about a different song (literally just did it in another thread)
― flamenco drop (BradNelson), Saturday, 6 January 2018 17:07 (nine months ago) Permalink
Hope Tim will do "Jupiter Drive" next - picked up on this from his poll nominations and OMG
― Jeff W, Saturday, 6 January 2018 21:48 (nine months ago) Permalink
Dream Team do Passinho – Oi SumidoMC Hariel & MC Kevin - Coração Na Geladeira Heavy Baile ft. Tati Quebra Barraco & Lia Clark – Berro
It’s difficult to get a clear sense of the parameters of funk carioca these days: it’s a style whose composition increasingly feels one part generic (in the sense of obeying the rules of genre) to two parts whatever the creators feel will work. This hasn’t necessarily unleashed Brazil’s creative animal spirits: as far as I can tell, most of the time “whatever works” is some mixture of influences from rap, dancehall, reggaeton and cumbia, and it’s not clear to me that down this path lies anything particularly more exciting than what might emerge from a further intensification of the scene’s by now well-established genre-tropes. Rather, the less world-shattering (but still occasionally exciting) upshot tends to be just a diverse wealth of vaguely familiar ideas being thrown at the wall in order to examine what sticks.
In the case of “Oi Sumido”, the resulting composite mostly codes as svelte, slinky latin-pop which, if more of it were in English, might even do quite well in the era of “Despacito” and “Havana”. With its florid eastern melodies (cannily flute-assisted in what undeniably was the year of the flute in pop), breathy vocals and driving cumbia beat (occasionally giving way to dancehall-driven interludes), the track embodies a certain seductive professionalism that reminds me of Anitta’s excellent and vaguely similar “Bang” (from 2015, but I only discovered it this year), or the kind of pan-european dance-pop that Alexander Stan regularly pumps out, perhaps most of all and most obviously J Lo and Wisin & Yandel’s “Follow The Leader”, 2012’s most underrated pop tune. As with the aforementioned, this is undeniably club (or bar) fare, internationalist in tone and easy to leave behind once it has served its purpose, but I find that to be a purpose I have need of serving with surprising frequency. Most of all, “Oi Sumido” gleams with the confidence of a job well done, taut and muscular yet with glitter dabbed in all the right places sufficient to make me wonder if a great boiling down of all pop music stock into a kind of trans-jurisdictional Esperanto isn’t the way to go after all.
Less professional but more intriguing, “Coração Na Geladeira” is funk-as-rap whose magpie ecumenicalism (naively? knowingly?) lands on a perfect combination lock formula of familiarity and estrangement. It commences unassumingly enough, a reggae lilt punctuated by little grunts over which MC Gudan offers the kind of sing-song rap that (for a non-Portuguese speaker) gets most of the way on its nasal intensity and sheer profusion of syllables alone. Then the tune pivots to a metallic thrum somewhere between Spanish guitar and harpsichord, tapping out a perverse melody that lands “Coração Na Geladeira” somewhere between TLC’s “Silly Ho” and Fetty Wap’s “Trap Queen” – less groundbreaking than the former and less perfect than the latter, perhaps, but nonetheless I find myself captivated by its louche tiptoe crawl, its weird combination of testosterone and fragility (for more in this general lane, check MC Gudan & MC Don Juan’s “Boca de Pêlo”).
As I hinted at the top though, I can’t help but suspect that funk’s greatest surprises remain bound up in its original sonic formula, though not necessarily in a purist sense. I only recently discovered Heavy Baile’s “Berro” in a packed gay bar in Buenos Aires, and was surprised and impressed to realise that seemingly everyone there (except me) knew the words. Through subsequent interrogation I concluded that (a) Spanish speakers will happily learn all the words to Portugese tunes if the song bangs; and (b) this is especially true at gay bars when dealing with funk that flirts with gay culture (see below). “Berro” is archetypal funk carioca resituated within a maximalist pop aesthetic (think Britney’s Blackout, I guess), its kitchen sink meets backfiring car percussion rolls and tuba bass hits interspersed with moaning synth chords and flutes (again), while Tati Quebra Barraco and drag queen Lia Clark holler at the top of their lungs on top – fitting, since “berro” is “bellow” or “shout” in Portguese (actually Lia doesn’t really shout, perhaps “declaims” is a better verb for her contribution).
I am fascinated by this queer turn in funk (which, to be clear, I am no expert on), mostly because funk always struck me as such a macho genre even when the MC was female. But, then, of course, “Berro” is barely less macho then the norm really, and perhaps it’s precisely because of the steroidal excess of funk’s signifiers that it makes such a ripe target for queer recontextualisation. Funk’s lewd sexuality was always already at least in part a parody of sex, just as gay culture tends to treat its sex-obsession both jokingly and deadly seriously. Here that vibe of parody executed with deadly earnestness is taken to its logical conclusion, the music’s militaristic fervor demanding complete bodily submission to the beat, to the dancefloor, to hedonism at large – more succinctly, it’s ballroom with a better groove.
(NB. If you like “Berro”, Heavy Baile have a bottomless trunk of heavy-hitters, though not all riding this particular vibe; check Tropkillaz & Heavy Baile’s “Toca na Pista” and, in particular, Heavy Baile’s “Catuaba; alternatively, if want more queer funk, check 2018 contender “Que Tiro Foie Esse” by Jojo Maronttinni)
― Tim F, Saturday, 13 January 2018 02:06 (nine months ago) Permalink
Uhh that last clip link is wrong, here's the "Berro" clip:
― Tim F, Saturday, 13 January 2018 02:08 (nine months ago) Permalink
Ahhh, Godheadz thread as always, thanks so much. This last pst reminds me---lots of fab Cameroonian rap videos with Frank's comments here, in his most recent Singles round-up (that I've seen) https://koganbot.livejournal.com/367967.html
― dow, Saturday, 13 January 2018 02:17 (nine months ago) Permalink
Slowdive – Sugar for the Pill (Avalon Emerson’s Gilded Escalation)Octo Octa – Adrift (Avalon Emerson’s Furiously Awake Version)
Like many I suspect, I was won over to techno artist Avalon Emerson by 2016’s ruthless yet beautiful “The Frontier”, one of the most effortlessly spellbinding techno tracks in recent memory. The crush was sealed by her Beats in Space podcast from that year, and in particular her decision to kick it off with her edit of Bjork’s “I Miss You”, Emerson treating the song’s ostentatious faux latin groove as if it was a techno track. The gesture underscored the air of perversity, and in particular rhythmic perversity, that characterises Emerson’s approach: if she frequently seems to operate in epically expansive terrain, this is less because ostentation is its own reward (though it can be) and more because doing so allows her space to indulge an impressively wide and unpredictably variety of impulses whilst remaining somewhat on-brand. What sounds like Avalon Emerson? Something big and bold that refuses to stay in its lane.
In its original form, “Sugar for the Pill” is Slowdive idealised, a gentle ballad seamlessly marrying the beauty and otherworldliness that (for the most part) separately characterised the band’s disparate first incarnation highlights. But if like me your standard Slowdive go-to is Pygmalion, then the song and other recent Slowdive efforts can seem like a charming tiptoe backwards into “mere” dream-pop. For her remix, Avalon Emerson ups the ante, retaining the tune’s floating gorgeousness but recasting it as a transmission from another galaxy, its seductive allure complicated by exotic estrangement. The tune seems to spin itself out of nothing, echoes and breaths slowly coalescing into a kind of permanent-intro (or extended middle-eight), suspended tension circling, circling, circling with the hesitation of waiting for something to start or perhaps for it to finish.
Finally, the vocals arrive, punctuated by a tentative, exploratory breakbeat rhythm probing the empty spaces in the arrangement. If the track settles into a groove of sorts, it’s more by virtue of its stubborn refusal to break its own spell, the calm piano chords and spiraling synth solos and glittering guitar and shuddering dub bass holding together in the most delicate of spiderwebs. The closest precedent for the sound Emerson concocts here might be “Desire”, an early 90s breakbeat techno sob-fest from Carl Craig alter-ego 69. At a broader level, Emerson’s reimagining of Slowdive’s original strikes me as something like how Carl Craig would have approached the task, throwing out any stylistic rulebook and simply asking, “what does this tune want from me?”
“Adrift” is less startling, but it makes for better dancing: an endless downward plunge into the mysterious heart of the groove. Where Octo Octa’s original is (like much of her work) rich and mysterious and hypnotic, Emerson’s appropriately-titled remix is wide-eyed and white-knuckled, a bumpy ride across a percussive groove so nuanced, so tactile that while listening I can’t help but experience the beats as rattling off different parts of my body. The drums here are just amazing, a complex weave of hand percussion and sharp snares all filtered through dub echo and filling up every available space in the arrangement with rhythmic detail. Halfway through “Adrift” wanders into a kind of graceful machine breakdown (dissolution?) that then continues for the balance of track, and turns out to be not a detour, but the original’s groove culmination.
In part, this is what can make Emerson seem like a techno producer even when (as here) she is technically operating in a house idiom: Emerson’s grooves frequently feel dangerous and unpredictable, complex contraptions threatening to fly apart at any moment but sustained by a commanding internal logic. On “Adrift”, that sense of danger inheres counter-intuitively within an arrangement so perfect that it’s tempting to describe it as pretty, creating in the listener and dancer the contradictory impulses of wanting to succumb to the groove but feeling no choice but to remain furiously awake.
― Tim F, Sunday, 14 January 2018 02:41 (nine months ago) Permalink
Been on an Avalon Everson kick since yr FB post a few months back - the BiS set and the Printworks set in particular, plus she's as delightful with lists as with set selection:
― etc, Sunday, 14 January 2018 06:51 (nine months ago) Permalink
Just saw the Onemind Early Daze writeup above. Big up, as the Metalheadz bredren would say!
― the article don, Sunday, 14 January 2018 12:07 (nine months ago) Permalink
I can't remember where I saw someone point out that one side of the newest Avalon Emerson release on Whities sounds a bit like the Crazy Frog advert from a decade ago and now I can't unhear it, but that and these are great
― boxedjoy, Monday, 15 January 2018 11:45 (nine months ago) Permalink