Yawn: "Acid"

“Yawning opens up the spirit core,” says the mustachioed faux-Zen master in Yawn’s public-access-style video for “Kind of Guy.” He continues in a satisfied, new-age lilt, urging viewers to “just give into the trance” before a strobe of rainbow-colored waves washes over the screen and the scene shifts to outer space. Glowing dancers, whose patterned figures are outlined by neon tubes, float, gyrate, and play instruments in unison with a tribal beat as kaleidoscopic lights pulsate.

The video is a perfect representation of Yawn’s aesthetic sensibilities — slightly off-kilter, totally saturated, and completely fun. “Colors are essentially just musical tones vibrating at a frequency that is visible to us,” says the video’s director, known only as Druid Beat. “Colors are another note to play.” The concept for the video stemmed from the playful mood of the song, yet there is an underlying progression taking place amid the flashing lights and bouncing rhythm. “The two dancers in the corners are composed of simple shapes; they are pure light, pure energy,” says Druid. “The middle dancers are more complex, lower entities, but still not pure matter. They combine into the human in the middle. From pure energy — light — comes matter.” Meanwhile, the members of Yawn oversee the procession, and the viewer is reborn through a “glowing, gloopy, neon vagina…witness to a light-show nirvana made out of the laser gods,” the director says.

Despite the brief existence of the band, Yawn’s avant-pop jams have garnered a considerable amount of buzz. Prior to becoming Yawn, the Chicago-based quartet performed and recorded under the name Metrovox, wielding an aggressive, guitar-driven setup. When asked where the new name and direction came from, multi-instrumentalist/vocalist Adam Gil explains, “We were just throwing names around. I forgot who came up with it. It doesn’t really sound like a genre or anything — or a type of music. So we can constantly change and Yawn would be a fitting name for what we do.”

The five-song EP that followed is a meditation in layers, a game of tricking the listener to make it sound bigger than it really is. “Kind of Guy,” which features lyrics about bassist Sam Wolf’s late cat, dangles playful harmonies over a smattering of reverberated shower-curtain pulls, drum-rim clicks, and chopstick key jabs. Avoiding the potential cacophony, the track exudes chilled-out vibes, as African wind instruments weave about the rhythm. And “Empress,” Yawn’s darkest song, shakes out the last bits of the band’s Metrovox days with an assertive guitar push and an explosion of bright, sweeping synth lines.

As a relatively new band, Yawn is still establishing its style, musically and visually. The video for “Kind of Guy” is a bold aesthetic statement, one that sets the tone for future visuals. And because it was a jumping-off point, a great deal of work went into its creation. “There was a very conscious effort to actually build as many of the elements as possible,” Druid Beat says. “The [light tents] were actually as tall as people. The band's costumes were constructed using a lot of EL wire. We hand-soldered all of it ourselves. The glowing element on the dancers' costumes was created using mason's twine and black light.”

David Beltran, who goes by the name of Starfoxxx, created the artwork for Yawn’s EP, which shares the vibrant visual aesthetic of the “Kind of Guy” video. A young, sickly girl is illustrated in reds, purples, and yellows in a scrawled, notebook-margin style, complete with faux paint drips and bubble graffiti letters. It’s a slightly more refined style than the band’s mix-tape cover, which is a frenzied collage of disparate elements.

On this cover, alongside drawings of a “huge red shark” and “motherfuckin’ Starfoxxx,” is a monolithic blender. Besides evoking the obvious implications of a “mix,” it serves as a visual metaphor for the band’s own style, which blends the organic with the digital effortlessly, as drum machines and rain sticks keep time in polyrhythmic coexistence. And with an acute sense of melody and pop-song convention, Yawn makes its signature blend with ingredients and influences from The Avalanches, Ariel Pink, and Brian Eno.

With its sophomore single, “Acid,” Yawn hints at another transformation, from happy psych to impending darkness. Stretched out in minor keys, the song echoes the heavy angst of Pink Floyd and displays shades of MGMT’s path — from Oracular Spectacular ecstasy to Congratulations freak-out. However, the end attraction still bubbles with some seriously liberating hypnotic pop.

The band’s full-length record, due in the first quarter of 2011, “[is] very much like a mix tape,” sampler/guitarist Daniel Perzan says. “Some tracks touch on the sampling nature of The Avalanches and Tough Alliance-style beach sounds, and others are mostly organic that ride drums with synths and guitars. It’s come to be a mishmash of song writing that really isn't like the typical album that keeps to one idea — which we fear may not exactly be the best thing. But that’s kind of what we are as a band.”

With a vague, elastic name and an equally pliable sound, the band is poised to do just about anything. And although much has changed since Yawn’s high-school days as Metrovox, its creativity and DIY passion have remained constant. The Zen master would be pleased; by “giving into the trance,” Yawn is just beginning to realize its potential.

Many artists claim that, given the opportunity, they would take back their recordings from their money-grubbing labels. Well, hundreds of acts will get that chance soon. Recently, the subject of “reversion of masters” surfaced in the New York Times. But when push comes to shove, many artists might opt to keep their hit recordings right where they are.

This excerpt is based on a chapter from the latest book by industry expert Moses Avalon, 100 Answers to 50 Questions on the Music Business.

While many in the music space have known about the coming copyright Armageddon (known as “reversion" / "termination of master rights”) for several years, most artists still have no idea exactly what it means for them and what they can do about it. Though the idea of artists taking back their classic recordings might seem great, given that many feel mistreated by their labels, my bet is that the “devil you know is better than the devil you don’t” philosophy will prevail when the time comes. Here’s why, and a brief guide to help with this decision.

First, what is reversion?

The Copyright Act states that after 35 years, the license or transfer of a work to a publisher (or label) can “terminate” and revert back to the original author. Under that law, artists who recorded material after January 1, 1978 are eligible to reclaim their masters in the year 2013. If the copyrights were created/transferred in 1979, then they are eligible for reversion in 2014; if created in 1980, they are eligible in 2015; etc.

Sounds simple, but for those that recorded/released prior to 1978, things get a bit more complicated. Copyright law has changed several times from 1972 to the present, resulting in several important exceptions to the “termination of masters” provision. For example, because of the change in law that occurred in 1978, artists whose recordings were registered between 1972 and 1978 will need to wait 56 years before they can reclaim their masters; and artists whose masters were recorded before 1972 can never reclaim their masters, because — believe it or not — no sound-recording copyright existed before 1972.

To make matters even more confusing, the window to submit a “termination of master” claim varies in length for each of the zones listed above. Ugh!

With so many variances in the law, we really need a computer to keep track of what masters will become available (isn’t there an app for that?) — especially when one considers that the albums immediately affected are some of pop music’s most successful recordings.

Great. Now, how do I get my record back?

Though reversion may sound like the ultimate victory for the artist, keep in mind that without the threat of label litigation, bootleggers will be free to copy any CD like a two-track master and then commercially release the classic recording without significant fear of punishment. If the last 10 years have taught the music business anything regarding copyright infringement, it’s that it's one thing to prove it and quite another to get the money.

Can you imagine several different labels each selling different releases of Pink Floyd’s The Wall? (It terminates in 2013.) Each would sound virtually identical to the original, because each would be a re-recording of the same original CD. (Ever bought a bad bootleg by accident, and upon listening to it realized that this was just an illegal recording of the recording? No? Right…me neither.)

Artists have to ask themselves this important question before attempting to pry loose the meal tickets of their labels: what would various releases from legitimate sources (iTunes, Amazon.com) as well as nefarious virus-ridden ones do to consumer confidence when considering a purchase? Imagine the brand starting to deteriorate because of confusion or fear.

And it gets worse: because bootleggers have no direct contact with the artist, no royalties from sales would be paid, and it is doubtful they would opt to pay the mechanical either.

And it gets even worse: unless the copyright administrator (which would be the artist by default when the master reverts) sues each and every bootlegger (very expensive), the sound-recording copyright could be voided and end up prematurely in the public domain.

So ironically, reversion — the artist’s right to control their work — could end up causing the deregulating of their copyright and the complete loss of the artist’s control.

Bottom line: before you get too excited about taking back those masters, you need to determine if you have the legal infrastructure and resources to defend the copyright as effectively as the label over the past 35 years.

So what should an artist do?

In lieu of actual reversion, there are a number of strategies that the artist can employ to turn the situation to their advantage. In my view, a clever artist would see this as an opportunity to renegotiate with the label, rather than an outright divorce. In my consulting practice, that’s the strategy I’ve been recommending.

Ask the label, “What value are you going to bring to the recordings from this point forward?” With Internet tools so cheaply available, it is clear that you no longer need a label to distribute your music, but you might need a partner to exploit it in new and creative ways. Ask the label for a marketing plan. Or do a P&D deal and flip the percentages; you get 85 percent and they get 15 percent.

Remember, unless you have the resources to market, promote, and, most importantly, protect your copyrights, you should try to see reversion as an opportunity for negotiating a new deal with your label to bring new life to your hit record.

Spite makes for bad business decisions.

A word of warning: reversion is a tricky business not to be undertaken without a qualified attorney. So don’t try this at home, kids. If you need an attorney, the Moses Avalon Company will get you one of the best. Click here to email me for more information on this.

Mo out

The Mayan calendar claims that the world will come to an abrupt end in 2012. We have all heard the hype and suffered through the movies. But even if that prediction falls flat, the pop-music business may still experience its own armageddon shortly thereafter. Are these just the ravings of another music-industry expert flying off the rails? Let's see.

In 2013, many classic recordings are scheduled to slip out of the control of their major labels. No, I’m not referring to odd recordings that no one actually collects. This list of records includes some of the top-selling albums of all time (abbreviated list below)!

Even though music-business insiders have been dreading this for years, the New York Times finally decided that it was a newsworthy enough subject and published a piece a few weeks ago about this issue (called “termination of masters”). Unfortunately, the reporter they assigned seemed to a have limited understanding of how the music business really works, as well as of copyright in general. In his article, he kept interchanging the word “songs” with “master recordings,” which littered his post with inaccurate statements like, “artists can claim their songs in 2013.”

Though this New York Times piece may be new info to outsiders, it is a subject that has long been on the minds of those concerned with the recording industry and artist rights. I reported about the subject in a 2008 Moses Supposes article. Here’s the reprint for your perusal:

Mayan meltdown at majors

The hot topic for the American Bar Association conference in 2008 was “termination of masters,” a little raison d’etre in the copyright act that supposedly levels the playing field for authors who are often at a disadvantage to the big, bad publisher (or record company, in this case). The copyright act states that after 35 years, the license or transfer of a work must “terminate” and revert back to the original author.

With so many variances in the law, we really need an iPhone countdown app to determine which master rights are soon to go bye-bye. But due to several exceptions, the albums that are immediately affected are those released in the US from 1978-1979. So in the year 2013, the following albums may no longer be property of their labels:

The Wall (Pink Floyd)
Van Halen (Van Halen)
Off the Wall (Michael Jackson)
Highway to Hell (AC/DC)
Joe’s Garage (Frank Zappa)
Tusk (Fleetwood Mac)
London Calling (The Clash)
Rust Never Sleeps (Neil Young)
Darkness on the Edge of Town (Bruce Springsteen)
Man the Torpedoes (Tom Petty)
The Kids Are Alright (The Who)
Some Girls (The Rolling Stones)
Fear of Music (Talking Heads)
Rickie Lee Jones (Rickie Lee Jones)

Basically my entire vinyl collection.

Oh, I almost forgot — Breakfast In America by Supertramp. (They can have that one.)

As you can see, this is not an insignificant list, and this list is in no way complete.

Though this may sound like a victory for the artists, keep in mind that without the threat of label litigation, we will likely see a de-facto public-domain-i-zation (I made that word up) of these masters. Artistically, this might be cool because now people can do wacky remixes and P2P them free of lawsuits. But it also means a complete deterioration of the one area that labels have been relying on for the revenue that it takes to invest in new artists: catalog.

And artists too?

Yes! To make matters worse, it’s not only the labels that could get the shaft here but the artist as well. You see, anyone who worked on the recording is considered “an author” and can apply for a “termination of [their] rights.” Anyone. Right down to the hanger-on who played the tambourine because he dropped off weed at the studio and someone said, “Hey, want to jam on the record?”

Imagine being a top heritage artist; you get your masters back and you’re looking forward to making a fresh deal for your classic recording, only to have an army of ex-entourage that you left in the wake of ascension shaking you down. Even if you’re legally in the right, the cost of litigation could bury you.

Several arguments have been forwarded to further define exactly who exactly “the author” is, but so far, each one seems to have just enough merit to pass summary judgment. The fact is that no one knows for sure exactly what or who “the author” will be in this context.

For my anarchist readers, who are presently wringing their hands with glee, I’ll say this: it’s one thing to want labels to suffer because they’re such greedy bastards, and it’s quite another to want to see a complete erosion of classic recordings and financial infrastructure.

This is only a small article on what is going to be a very, very scary topic over the next couple of years. Stay tuned.

What would you do if your label, which claimed that, after selling millions of CDs, you still owe them money, was going to lose rights to the masters? Would you take them back or renew your contract with them? I’ll give you some tips in the next piece on this important subject. What do you think is in the artist’s best interest? Post your answer below. Here’s a clue: it’s not the obvious answer.

Mo out

Viva Voce: "Analog Woodland Song"

Kevin and Anita Robinson comprise Portland, Oregon-based rock-n-roll band Viva Voce. The married couple has released six full-length albums since the late '90s, the latest of which is called The Future Will Destroy You. With Kevin hammering the drums with machine-like precision and Anita producing catchy hooks and riffs with classic-rock cool, it's a surprisingly lighthearted sound for such a foreboding title. The band's sticking by its claim, though, and recently compiled this apocalyptic playlist for ALARM.

1. The Stooges: "Search & Destroy"

I'm a streetwalking cheetah with a heart full of napalm. 'Nuff said.

2. Bob Dylan: "A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall"

The pebble that started the avalanche.

3. Black Sabbath: "Hole In The Sky"

"We're all gonna die" is the message of this song, I believe. It's a kids' song, really.

4. The Rolling Stones: "Paint It Black"

Johnny Cash thought so too.

5. The Byrds: "One Hundred Years From Now"

Electro-cowpoke singing, "Nobody knows the kind of trouble we're in."

6. Queen: "Another One Bites The Dust"

Another one gone, and another one gone…

7. Grandaddy: "Broken Household Appliance National Forest"

The conduit is the hollow log.

8. Kris Kristofferson: "Kiss The World Goodbye"

Grandma-approved apocalyptic message.

9. Pink Floyd: "Goodbye Blue Sky"

See: "Paint it Black."

10. Sly & The Family Stone: There's a Riot Going On

As well there should be.

Bohren & Der Club of Gore: Beileid (Ipecac)

Bohren & Der Club of Gore: "Zombies Never Die (Blues)"

With a mutual background in hardcore, grind, and other forms of extreme music, the members of Bohren & Der Club of Gore formed to begin a new "doom/horror jazz" experiment.  But when the German quartet came into its own in the early 1990s, its sounds weren't the types of brooding metal or bloodcurdling film scores that one might imagine.  Instead, ominous bass lines, spooky organ tones, guitar reverberations, and somber, elongated melodies formed the bulk of the band's "doom" elements.

Beileid, the group's latest, continues in the tradition of Twin Peaks- and Angelo Badalamenti-esque creepiness with deliberate tempos and jazzy intonations.  Vibraphone, Mellotron, and sax again build the slow-moving atmosphere in three lengthy tracks, the second of which is a darkened take on the song "Catch My Heart" by 1980s German hair-metallers Warlock.  At two-and-a-half times the length of the original, "Catch My Heart" is the balladic middle section of this 35-minute triptych, and it finds the incomparable Mike Patton turning the tones of Warlock lead singer Dorothee Pesch into deep vibratos.

The two originals stand out as well, but with melodies that feel like they're at quarter-speed, listeners require either patience or a love of unfolding ambience.

Pillars & Tongues: The Pass and Crossings (Endless Nest / Empty Cellar)

Pillars & Tongues: "The Making Graceful"

Led by interwoven, trance-inducing vocal dynamics and spiritual folk/chamber instrumentation, Pillars & Tongues achieves a surprising amount of power for merely a trio.  And thanks to the Chicago group's tireless touring schedule, underground explorers around the country have taken to its style, one that produces a great number of sonic textures.

With The Pass and Crossings, the trio again builds from the bellowing vocals of singer/percussionist Mark Trecka, the swirling melodies of violinist Beth Remis, and the bowed swells of upright bassist Evan Hydzik.  Harmonies, long-form repetitions, and sparse beats are crucial to the album's moments of buildup and release.  The result is a sonic spell, waiting to enchant those who hear it.

Thievery Corporation: Culture of Fear (ESL)

Thievery Corporation: "Culture of Fear" f. Mr. Lif

DJs Rob Garza and Eric Hilton comprise Thievery Corporation, a politically outspoken dub/lounge duo that has built a name for itself in Washington, DC with its world- and trip-hop-infused sounds.

Over the years, the two have incorporated a slew of politically minded collaborations into their albums.  The first on Culture of Fear features rapper and Def Jux alum Mr. Lif on the title track, which derides a never-changing security-alert system, the widening reach of the digital world, and shady bank loans.

Most of the duo's political messaging is left to interviews and guest spots, but song titles often hint at deeper issues or themes, and Culture of Fear does so with "Tower Seven" and "False Flag Dub."

Musically, the album is a bit more focused than some of its far-reaching predecessors, leaning on airy jams and minimalist bass grooves.  But it's still a down-tempo and occasionally funky and jazzy lounge mix, with sultry dub and trip-hop concoctions for other guest vocalists.  It's a mixture that doesn't grow tired despite the duo's many years together.

Ancestors: Invisible White EP (Tee Pee)

Ancestors: "Invisible White"

Ancestors has a flair for the epic. You likely won’t find the progressive LA band making a standard 12-track record full of four-minute songs with traditional song structures. Its 2008 debut, Neptune With Fire (profiled here), wove together the fantastical storytelling of a band like Rush with modern doom metal.

And though its new album, Invisible White, adheres to that same slow-burning, long-form formula, it marks a distinct departure into more mellow, experimental territory, à la Pink Floyd. The three-song EP kicks off with the title track, a lilting, acoustic-guitar-and-piano dirge that introduces each new instrument with measured deliberation — violin, drums, organ — and culminates in a moving lament of the elusive “Invisible White.”

Ultimately, Ancestors is driven by the credo “play the kind of music you’d want to hear,” and venturing into previously unexplored territory seems as effortlessly rote as putting a new record on the turntable.

- Text by Kyle Gilkeson.

Honorable Mentions

The Atomic Bitchwax: The Local Fuzz (Tee Pee)

Ramin Djawadi: Game Of Thrones soundtrack (Varèse Sarabande)

Arnold Dreyblatt: Resonant Relations (Cantaloupe)

Handsome Furs: Sound Kapital (Sub Pop)

Jolie Holland: Pint of Blood (Anti-)

Isis: Live III 12.17.04

The Laureates: Spells

Sbtrkt: s/t (Young Turks / XL)

See-I: s/t (Fort Knox)

White Wives: Happeners (Adeline)

YACHT: Shangri-La (DFA Records)

Neurosis: "To Crawl Under One's Skin"

Earlier this year, pioneering sludge-metal band Neurosis reissued its third studio album, Souls at Zero, on its own label, Neurot. Though it sounds just as fresh today, it has been nearly 20 years since that influential mixture of heavy grooves, diverse folk instrumentation, and mammoth metal riffs first cropped up. We asked frontman Steve Von Till to compile a playlist for us, and he came up with 11 bands that were instrumental in Neurosis' formation and development.

Bands Integral to the Origin of Neurosis
by Steve Von Till of Neurosis

This playlist may contain the secrets to the origin of thousands of bands who became inspired to give it all.

1. Joy Division: "New Dawn Fades"

The driving bass. The melodic yet primitive guitar. The empty and bleak space as large as the riff. The words, “Me, seeing me this time, hoping for something else.” The emotions left behind.

2. Black Flag: My War (side B)

"Nothing Left Inside," "Three Nights," and "Scream." Slow dirge and discordant angst…perfection.

3. Amebix: "Last Will and Testament"

No Gods, No Masters, and yet a spiritual thread runs through its music. Punks informed by Crass and Killing Joke but armed with mysticism and huge metal guitars. We owe a lot to these men.

4. Pink Floyd: "Careful With That Axe Eugene" (Live at Pompeii version)

Man…that scream…I swear Roger Waters looks like he is about to transform into some beast during that performance. Heavy psych at its best.

5. Die Kreuzen: "All White"

Dissonant guitars, insane, augmented chords, melodic bass, and that voice! “Let me out!!!!!!!!”

6. Voivod: "Tribal Convictions"

Along with Die Kreuzen, Piggy (Denis D'Amour) from Voivod blew our minds with the insane, dissonant chord shapes. Psychedelic metal from space. Truly one of a kind. We miss you, Piggy.

7. Rudimentary Peni: Cacophony (entire record)

A band considered to be a group of art-damaged anarcho-punks comes out of nowhere with a completely bizarre, hypnotic masterpiece dedicated and inspired by the life of HP Lovecraft. This may be one of the strangest rock records of all time.

8. Killing Joke: "The Wait"

Even though it is overplayed thanks to a cover by an arena-rock band, it cannot detract from the fact that this track from its first record is heavy as hell — a badass new-wave anthem. Killing Joke is still intense and passionate. Huge inspiration.

9. Deep Purple: "Highway Star"

Harmonic distortion. This is what the human ear finds pleasing. I can think of no other sound that personifies those words more than this era of Deep Purple. Before I knew much about music, I thought it was Ritchie Blackmore’s guitar that was responsible for the thick, rich, tough wall of sound, but as I got older, I thought, “No, it must be Jon Lord’s distorted organ that is so heavy.” Finally I had the moment of clarity; it is the magic blend of the Hammond B3’s foldback distortion with the Stratocaster and Rickenbacker through dimed stacks of '60s Marshalls that is so damn good. My quest for my guitar tone has been chasing that ever since.

10. The Subhumans: "From the Cradle to the Grave"

The title says it all. An absolute epic of musicianship and depth of lyrics that stands leagues beyond the shallow and naive sociopolitical punk of the era. Timeless.

11. Black Sabbath: "Black Sabbath"

They say both good and bad things come in threes. This is all about three notes, which bring forth both good and bad in the mind of the listener. The triad. The ultimate, heavy, slow doom riff. I cannot count the number of times I have “written” a riff, only to realize “Damn it, I ripped off Sabbath…again.”

Augury: Concealed (Sonic Unyon, 3/8/11)

Augury: "Alien Shores"

Though Quebec-based death-prog band Augury earned rave reviews in the metal press with its 2009 release, Fragmentary Evidence, its 2004 debut, Concealed, went largely unnoticed at the time, save for some devotees on the fringe. A reissue of that disc doesn’t lessen any of its original challenge, but it may well give fans of technical metal something new to cheer about.

Newcomers beware: Concealed is not an easy listen. The individual tracks (“songs” isn’t always the correct term; “sequences” may work better) live and die by their constant shifts, resulting in music that seems as difficult for a listener to follow as it is for the musician to play. Throw in Augury’s steadfast devotion to its tone and sonic aesthetics, and what begins as a promising suite can end up as a stream-of-consciousness barrage of sound. This is technical music that goes beyond technique — beyond mere “math rock” — into its own brand of astrophysical metal.

The reward of Concealed, however, lies in the moments where Augury lets itself not just breathe but really play — where the assault gives way to the group’s tremendous compositional skill. Try as they might to hide behind half-measure blast beats and unclassifiable time signatures, the melodic sections of Concealed call to mind any of the best practitioners of not just progressive metal but even straight-ahead progressive rock. Not that the relentless, shape-shifting riffs of “…Ever Know Peace Again” could be called straight-ahead by even the loosest definition, but the acoustic threads winding through “The Lair Of Purity” and “From Eden Estranged” form a simultaneous callback to both middle-period Opeth and, dare it be said, Pink Floyd.

It’s this full awareness of the group’s bag of tricks that just barely keeps Concealed from devolving into cartoonish super-prog. Even with volume swells in the intro sections, even with Arianne Fleury’s operatic female soprano duetting with Patrick Loisel’s death growls, even with “tasteful guitar sections” simply meaning “the acoustic parts,” Augury shows a keen understanding of its capabilities and its limitations. The group knows how to write a song, but it also knows when it’s okay to avoid writing one altogether.

This edition of Concealed also includes a pair of bonus tracks recorded in 2006. Though “Skyless” and “Faith Puppeteers” don’t move too far from Concealed’s original template, the marching riffs and near-fist-pumping thrash of the latter suggest that the band might have contemplated a more accessible sound for its next move. Those plans fell by the wayside, of course, as Fragmentary Evidence went even further over the top than its predecessor, but the two tracks here provide an interesting look at the path not taken.

Enslaved: Axioma Ethica Odini (Nuclear Blast / Indie Recordings, 9/28/10)

Enslaved: "Ethica Odini"

Enslaved abandoned black metal long ago in favor of expansive rock songs coated in darker aesthetics. This release continues in the tradition of post-Syd Barrett Pink Floyd by creating compositions of textures over a few simple rock riffs.

There is plenty here to like. Enslaved is a group of fantastic players, and, in isolation, some of these parts are extremely interesting. Chord-voicing games on "Singular" warrant repeat listens, as does the heavy, stuttering riff that intros "Waruun." Close attention to the cymbal accent patterns will reward the more rhythmically-minded listener.

However, when taken as a whole, these songs are a hodgepodge. This is particularly frustrating, given the band's past great works and the hints of greatness with which it continues to flirt. Parts rarely relate to each other in an intuitive way, and instead mesh together awkwardly in a herky-jerky mess of pseudo-epic singing, clean guitar arpeggios, black-metal tremolo picking, and cringe-worthy talking parts.

If the melodic vocals were all like "Lightening," Enslaved might be onto something. Instead, most of the melodies are immediately forgettable, making the clean vocals an irritation as they distract from the point of the song without offering anything. Many parts — such as the chaotic transition into a clean guitar break into a brief, sung outro in the final minutes of "Ethica Odini" — invite the listener to ask "why?"

Still, this record benefits significantly from a stripped-down approach to songwriting from which Enslaved had strayed on its more recent releases. The album's high points come in moments when a riff is allowed to grow and then transition into a complementary part. The deceptively simple intro to "The Beacon," followed by a half-time part with floating rhythmic emphasis, is a perfect example of this technique. Similarly, the driving riff that carries "Raidho" flourishes with subtle keys added to it after a few repetitions.

This record has strong moments that hint at the expert riff-craft and songwriting that Enslaved has demonstrated in the past. Given the success of more minimalist songs on this release, we may yet see Enslaved release another great album. Axioma Ethica Odini, however, does not have the cohesive vision that elevates music above the pack.

Decrepit Birth: Polarity (Nuclear Blast)

First up is the third album from California's Decrepit Birth, Polarity. This album is a great example of the band's name and the album's title bringing to mind two completely different things. "Decrepit birth" sounds like a schlock-y gore-grind band, while "polarity" suggests spaced-out, progressive rock. Truth be told, it's a bit of both.

Like Necrophagist before it, Decrepit Birth sticks to the old-school, growled, and slightly raspy styles of vocals in addition to its very complex, other-worldly music. This tactic is employed as a foundation: it doesn't matter what Bill Robinson is growling about; it just matters that he does it consistently and with enough force to keep the album grounded throughout. With that being said, Robinson chooses his phrasing and placement of vocals well, allowing plenty of time for the rest of the band to do its thing, which really begins a minute and a half into Polarity, when there's a Spanish-influenced guitar break out of nowhere.

Decrepit Birth is, without question, a band that prides itself on musicianship. The intricacy of its riffs brings to mind my fifth-grade teacher's take on Gone With the Wind when she showed it to our class: "I notice something new every time." Rhythm shifts, brief solo passages, and transitions between sections of the songs command awe as well as neck-snapping headbanging.

One interesting thing about Polarity, guitar-wise, is Decrepit Birth's year-round-school take on soloing: rather than interject long-winded solos, Dan Eggers and founding member Matt Sotelo fire off short, melodic bursts throughout the album, with melody peeking out from behind the dense song structures like the sun from behind clouds.

Drummer KC Howard rides the guitar and bass insanity with style, grace, and frequent double-kick-drum action, which mirrors the vocals as a subtle, almost-constant presence. When the bass drums mimic the guitars or bass during specific rhythms instead of just chugging along, it's very noticeable.

Toss in a perfect mix where every riff is clear as day and one of Dan Seagrave's classic weird-landscape paintings for cover art, and Polarity is going to make a lot of year-end lists.

Decrepit Birth: "Solar Impulse"

Aeon: Path of Fire (Metal Blade)

Another subtly complex- – but much more brutal album — was released back in May to the delight of…not many.  Aeon's Path of Fire has flown below the radar, most likely due to its lack of any commercial viability whatsoever outside of death-metal circles, which is not to say that the album isn't completely brilliant.

It would be easy to dismiss Aeon's "Satanic" subject matter as silliness penned by uncreative goons, but it's obvious that Aeon is in on the joke (the hidden bluegrass version of "God Gives Head In Heaven" on the band's 2005 debut, Bleeding the False, confirms this suspicion).  But once you dig deeper, it also becomes obvious that the band mostly uses its blatantly evil platform to preach the importance of making your own decisions and living freely — two basic ideas espoused by the Church of Satan, ironically. Chances are that the band sees — like many of its Swedish metal peers — organized religion as really fucked up, and this is an outlet for its frustration, be it completely truthful or not.

Musically, Aeon is '90s Florida death metal (Deicide, Malevolent Creation, Morbid Angel, etc.) re-booted in the 21st Century. Its vocals are classic death metal: low, guttural vocals for the majority of the lyrics paired with high-pitched, screeched vocals for accents on the choruses or important lines during the verses.

There are a lot of fast and unassuming accents and bridges scattered amongst the songs on Path of Fire. The more obvious ones are highlighted by drummer Nils Fjellstrom, but the rest are hiding in the fast parts when the blast beats serve as a blank canvas for the guitars to serve up some warped, mind-bending riffs that sometimes operate at a much slower tempo than the drums they're on top of.

Aeon: "Abomination to God"

Cardiac Arrest: Haven for the Insane (Ibex Moon)

Finally, I'd like to touch on a killer local release from here in Chicago. Haven for the Insane is the newest album from sloppy, primitive death-metal freaks Cardiac Arrest. These guys are on the horror-movie tip alongside bands like Autopsy or also-classic and also-Illinois-based Impetigo, so if that, bass drums that sound like they were ripped from Macabre's Gloom, and artwork from Putrid are appealing to you as a consumer, check it out.

First Time On Vinyl

Since its inception in the late '80s, UK-based Earache Records has released a lot of vinyl. Its last vinyl-sales campaign was in 2002 and saw reissues of classic Earache titles like Slaughter of the Soul, Left Hand Path, and Altars of Madness. Eight years later, the label has begun a First Time On Vinyl series and has started to reissue classic albums that didn't make the cut in 2002.

The First Time series has been strong thus far, with beautiful double-LP versions of Morbid Angel's Formulas Fatal to the Flesh (its only album that had yet to see the day on a format other than CD); Decapitated's debut, Winds of Creation (as well as its 2006 monster, Organic Hallucinosis); and Cult of Luna's 2001, self-titled album.

Decapitated: "Post Organic"
Decapitated: \"Post Organic\"

Notable Vinyl Reissues

Earache also recently released stunning double-LP versions of the first two Brutal Truth albums, Extreme Conditions Demand Extreme Responses and Need to Control. The Extreme Conditions… reissue has the album proper on the first record and tracks from the Perpetual Conversion and Ill Neglect EPs on the second.

Need to Control was first issued as a single LP or 5-, 6-, 7-, 8-, and 9-inch vinyl box set, which had five bonus tracks, including Celtic Frost and Pink Floyd covers. Like Extreme Conditions, Need to Control has the album on one record and the bonus tracks on the second.

Brutal Truth: "I See Red"

News & Notes

Spain's most prolific gore punks, Haemorrhage, have started demos for a 2011 full-length on Relapse; Illinois/Wisconsin old-schoolers Jungle Rot are touring until late August behind their newest, What Horrors Await; former Dark Angel, Strapping Young Lad and Death drummer (currently playing for Dethklok and Fear Factory) Gene Hoglan finally released his DVD; Chicago riff-worshippers Geffika have lined up a few California dates; it sounds like Rochester, NY grinders Spoonful of Vicodin have called it quits — they will be missed; Atlanta's Primate is wrapping up its debut recording; the re-formed Buzzov*en will be briefly hitting the road in September.

Cisneros has been a prominent figure in underground metal for years, but his gentle, unassuming demeanor is a far cry from what many would expect from a musician associated with what is typified as an aggressive, macho genre.

Om, the intense, hypnotic bass-and-drum duo that he founded with drummer Chris Haikus in 2003, has been reinventing the way that many people perceive heavy music. Its songs are cerebral but accessible, spiritual but unreligious. Om’s music could be used to excite the apathetic as much as it could serve as a meditative soundtrack for the hyperactive.

In a live setting, Om takes on another dimension. The walls rattle under the colossal vibrations from Cisneros’ bass cabinets, fuelled by his carefully selected custom amps; the huge, warm sounds that come out of them seem to enter the body, resulting in a feel that is like being caught in the eye of a storm.

“I feel really safe sometimes, if that’s the right word, when the speakers [fuzz out] like that,” Cisneros says. “Descriptions [of music] can be stereotypes. It’s very peaceful.”

When Haikus amicably left the band in the spring of 2008, Cisneros sought out Grails drummer and Holy Sons mastermind Emil Amos to take his place. Things have been good ever since, as the title of Om’s fourth studio album and first featuring Amos on drums, God is Good (Drag City), suggests.

“It’s just true,” Cisneros says of the title, which, true to form, decontextualizes religious iconography from its traditional meanings. “We’re in the journey right now, and we wanted to sing about it. It’s the word symbol we came up with. You can’t explain it. The more you try with words, the more you try to explain what it means.” As each word passes, Cisneros sounds vaguely frustrated at trying to communicate such esoteric thoughts out loud. “You can feel it,” he continues. “Everyone can feel it.”

Amos is more direct about the title. “It makes me think of a really hellish LSD trip,” he says, “where at the end of the whole thing, you meet this sobbing resolution that things actually are okay—the fact that you know, in some Jungian sense or in a Carl Sagan book, [that] the creation of this universe came from the first moment of good winning over evil.”

Cisneros began exploring the depths of heavy metal as a teenager in the late ’80s, when he and Haikus formed punk/metal hybrid Asbestosdeath. The band added second guitarist Matt Pike (now guitarist/frontman of High on Fire) and by the early 1990s morphed into Sleep—a riff-brandishing psychedelic power trio, a band that owed more to the bluesy grooves of Black Sabbath and Pentagram yet whose sound was filtered through a set of musicians that had also been exposed to Bay Area hardcore and thrash.

“We all dropped out of high school—I think every one of us,” Cisneros recalls. “We were all having hard times, and we were friends through music.” For the young friends, music became more than just a hobby. “[It was] our lifeline,” he corrects. “I wouldn’t have made it through those times without it.”

Sleep grew a following, and with the release of its second album, Sleep’s Holy Mountain, many believed that it had the potential to cross into the mainstream. The band signed with London Records to release its third album, tentatively titled Dopesmoker, a single, hour-long epic song that had taken the band years to perfect.

The label, rather than appreciating what it had, saw it as “noncommercial” and toyed with remixing it and dividing the song into pieces. The band was horrified and eventually broke up under the strain, but the album later surfaced as the segmented Jerusalem on Rise Above Records, and eventually, an unabridged version of Dopesmoker was released on Tee Pee.

Sleep left a legacy not only because of its primal, heavy sounds that have influenced others, but also because of its unwavering commitment to its vision of its art, no matter what the stakes.

In the aftermath of Sleep, Cisneros stopped playing music for seven years. “I just took the time to go back to school—and live, really,” he says. “I didn’t want people to tell me that I had to do Sleep. I wanted to know what I wanted and what was right to me.

"I used that time to find it and to cultivate it. In finding that, the songs that I had already been hearing were able to be treated with the respect that they deserved, and I was able to document the ones that really stuck with me. It was time to play; I needed to heal, though, first. When Sleep had broken up, I felt like I had died. It meant so much to me. It meant my entire life. When it went the way it did…I never knew that there would be a return to playing.”

As the songs began to accumulate, Cisneros called Haikus, and the two teamed up as Om. “From that point forward, we were going to do it,” he says. “It was like being able to live over again with a different appreciation, being able to be connected.” Beginning with 2005 experimental album Variations on a Theme through the awe-inspiring Pilgrimage (Southern Lord) in 2007, Om impressed listeners with the intense yet organic feel of its music.

It bucked convention with minimal, droning sounds that were punctuated by Cisneros’ staccato, mantra-like vocals in pieces that could last upwards of twenty minutes. “It is all about the feel and the duration of the art, how it needs to be, and the distance it needs to be,” Cisneros says. “I’d be fighting myself thinking about wanting to write a song a certain length.”

That same intuition on which Cisneros relies for writing music came into play when he asked Amos to join his band. The two had recently met when Om and Grails played a short string of shows together, but otherwise they were virtual strangers.

“We knew only enough about each other that we knew that we got along,” Amos says. “We knew that we both worshipped [prolific jazz and fusion drummer] Billy Cobham, Pink Floyd, and dub. We had some heated late-night discussions [about music], and that was about it.”

Amos, as one might imagine, was caught off guard. “I didn’t know what to say,” he recalls. “My life was in disarray at the time.”

A grueling schedule of music and production projects had left him burned out and reevaluating his way of life. “I became a machine,” he says. “I gave myself to music completely for the first time. I’d avoided it my whole life; I never wanted to make it a job.” To cap it off, “I had gotten out of an eight-year relationship, and the girl left the country on the day that Al called me. My life completely changed in one category, and literally a couple of hours later he called me. My head turned from one reality to another reality.”

With that, Amos joined, and Cisneros’ instinct proved to be dead on. In preparation for a European tour, Cisneros flew from his California home to Portland, where he and Amos spent two days practicing before recording their first piece of music together, the Gebel Barkel 7” (Sub Pop), which cemented a new era for the band. “It’s pretty unreal for a band to assume that they could form like that,” Amos says, “and record their debut two days later and expect that it will be fine. And we did that.”

With the addition of Amos, Om has not done away with its signature style, but both fans and critics have recognized a distinct freshness to the duo’s performance (illustrated on Live Conference, a live rendition of Conference of the Birds [Important Records, 2009]), a reflection of the energy that transpires between the two musicians.

Amos, who cut his teeth on hardcore growing up in Chapel Hill, North Carolina before branching into more worldly styles, describes the lineup (“crudely,” he admits) as “a hardcore kid and a metal kid coming together,” noting that their musical partnership has opened the gates for what has become a unique friendship. “We’ve needed each other on a level that we couldn’t have seen,” he says. “There are an odd number of coincidences of how we think. We just flow so well; the whole thing has this serendipitous, odd synchronicity to it. The way we came together just worked.”

The two share a similar aesthetic that goes beyond the actual craft of making music. “I look at music as a very serious form of spiritual discipline,” Amos says. “It’s the same thing for Al. The artistic template is the way to pursue your own sanity. … It’s not like a job, but it is a format in which to live. It’s a spiritual work. Work is sort of all we have as humans. We apply ourselves for life as making music, and that keeps us happy. Without that, we would be lethargic and confused. It’s a form of finding yourself and a strata of values within the world.”

“The music happens because it has to, and that’s essential,” Cisneros says. “It can’t be forced at all, or it’s not worth participating in. I’ve seen people sit at a guitar for ten hours, and it’s like, ‘Dude, water’s not going to come out of your rock.’ I don’t even understand it—does that person have to play? If they’re going through all of that, what’s the whole idea?”

Continuing, he muses, “Songwriting seems to be more of a job as an editor rather than a writer. It’s more a process of negotiation and building and learning what not to do. When you have a part that seems right in your heart, you ask yourself, ‘How do I stay there? How do I not go away from that?’”

With Amos, Cisneros stays right in the thick of it. He describes their creative output as a flood, with parts of God is Good coming so suddenly that “We’d record it on our cell phones just so we could have it documented.”

The album, recorded with Steve Albini at Electrical Audio studios in Chicago, showcases Om’s penchant for creating music that is as genuinely emotive as it is heavy, best illustrated on opening number “Thebes,” which begins serenely, building into a rollicking thunder before coming down again.

And though the core of the duo remains the focal point, subsequent tracks weave in other sounds and moods, such as the rhythmic handclaps leading the way on “Cremation Ghat Pt. 1.” (it’s actually danceable) and the help of friends such as flutist Lorraine Rath and Lichens / 90 Day Men member Rob Lowe on tamboura at key points throughout the album. “It’ll always be the bass and drum, but we’ve been using different instruments to lead the songs,” Amos says. “It’s important for the trajectory of where the records are going to find new ways to say things. Live, we haven’t worked [it] out…the band will always be the two guys.”

Designed by Grails’ Alex Hall, the album’s cover art depicts a gold-leaf halo-adorned angel against a stark black backdrop, echoing the softer but nearly identical imagery of Pilgrimage. And like the art, God is Good represents another step in the journey for Om—a heightened sense of focus and wellbeing that doesn’t lose sight of the original goal.

Likewise, this newfound positive energy has given way to a tidal wave of new music that extends outside of the band as well. In January 2009, Cisneros joined Scott “Wino” Weinrich, Neurosis’ Scott Kelley, and Melvins’ Dale Crover in a “masters of underground rock” super-group, Shrinebuilder, whose upcoming self-titled album has been touted as one of the most anticipated heavy albums of the year.

In May, he joined former Sleep bandmates at All Tomorrow’s Parties Festival in the UK for a highly anticipated reunion that marked the first time the legendary trio had performed together since it disbanded more than a decade ago. Amos has been busy as well; among other projects, he has edited and produced Grails’ Acid Rain DVD (Temporary Residence), released Holy Sons’ sixth full-length, Drifters Sympathy (Important), and begun work on yet another Grails album.

This multitude of other projects has served to heighten the duo’s enthusiasm for Om. “One of the things that we’ve been able to do is to start using more areas of the canvas,” Cisneros says, hinting that the best is yet to come. “It has deepened what preexisted, and it has opened what was once contained. It has let in light and energy, and I am totally, totally thankful. The rate that Emil and I work…there is a lot there. We’re so excited with the outcome [of the new albums], but it’s really just beginning.”

Quoting another prominent figure in the genre, Amos concludes, “Dylan Carlson from Earth said it well: ‘I don’t want to make more noise. The world is noisy enough.’ Al and I are trying to create a cohesive sum of what we’ve learned, rather than just noise pollution.”