This initial offering from Ready Fire Aim is a blend of infectious hybridized synth-pop; syrupy and simple where you’d expect it to be, yet harnessing a thoughtful complexity that makes it stylistically fresh and unique. If This Changes Nothing can be accused of being too poppy in spots, it can also be commended for its balance with its more brooding tracks and even a surprising cover of “I Would for You” by Jane’s Addiction. In broadly noting influences from Depeche Mode and Nine Inch Nails to The Postal Service and Pink Floyd, Ready Fire Aim set an expectation that is delivered upon subtly and on their own terms. The product here is playful, modern and highly likeable, loaded with genuinely well constructed songs and flawless vocals that owe less to influence and more to the ideal collaboration of renaissance-man Sage Rader and the adventurous DJ Shaun “Stakka” Morris.
All in all this is a great and versatile album that deserves a listen.
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Composed by Edward Douglas, The Rage soundtrack comes with the promise of the horrifically wicked music that Midnight Syndicate has become famous for. The first minute or so emerges slowly and eerily, not unlike Coil’s The Unreleased Themes for Hellraiser, but the brooding quickly erupts into a frenzied concoction of panic, terror and malice. While the driving force of this album lies in its heart-pounding sequences, it truly reaches a zenith in the ominous portions that deliver more subtle nuances of fear.
Despite not having seen The Rage, its soundtrack leaves me feeling peculiarly fulfilled; the music tells a complete tale and easily succeeds on its own merits without dialog or pictures. It has a deep stylistic character woven through it with just as many twists and turns as any good horror film. The experience can be likened to a broken roller coaster—frightening at any speed and at every turn. If the movie is as good as the soundtrack, I’m going to be as happy as a pig in popcorn.
The best reasons for a band to release a live album are to provide a sense of what they can offer outside of the studio and to showcase a more organic interactivity between artist and audience. In the case of Seabound’s Come Forward, the band’s pre-programmed music allows little in the way of a “live” performance without the visual experience (not present on the subsequent CD), and the limited creativity taken with lyrics doesn’t go too far beyond their studio recordings. The conceptual issues with Come Forward are that it sounds more or less like the band’s meticulously programmed studio albums, and the most notable vocal elements are fumbled lyrics, which occur twice—both times highlighted by Frank Spinath’s mention of the mistakes during songs.
There is redemption on the flipside. Excellent production standards have kept the tracks sharp and clean despite the live context, one of the obvious benefits of electronic music. Above that, Seabound happen to be a progressive and quite excellent band with a discography practically devoid of a song that isn’t attractive; the effect is essentially a “best of” that just happens to have the presence of live vocals. Spinath’s voice may sometimes appear strained or out of breath on heartier songs, but that’s a very human reminder that you’re listening to a live set and not just a playlist of your favorites.
Ultimately I wouldn’t recommend Come Forward to the uninitiated; Beyond Flatline is better suited for introductions. But I would recommend it to the ardent fans, especially ones that haven’t had the opportunity to see Seabound in person.
The possibility of an album more morose, more sodden and more dejected than previous DTT releases was until recently very slim. With the advent of In the Graveyard, DTT finds himself at his most despairing, and with that extreme pushes the envelope of his creative ability and artistic vision. Perhaps more disturbing than the despondency in these songs is that they are rooted in reality, not some feckless world of guesswork. Toman doesn’t allow himself the luxury of writing from an outside view, and thus transforms every ounce of his own pain, frustration and misery into a kind of sonic sculpture to be met with wonder and pity.
Despite its dark themes, In the Graveyard is mined with an assortment of unforgettably catchy and engaging songs, some of which are laced with a subdued aggression that balances the package perfectly. The juxtaposition of this album’s very existence—at once very depressing and pleasurable—makes for an interesting and characteristically diverse folk/rockexperience.
After a stint with the stylistically raucous and straight-forward project Grinderman, Nick Cave resumes his ever-changing and increasingly complex role with the Bad Seeds.
The evolution present on Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! manifests itself as a kind of warmth from Cave that has firmly outgrown the dominance of the dark and sorrowful themes which have defined his past. Those themes are by no means absent, but the delivery here is with less confrontation and more comfort. One needs look to no further than the first single for a perfect example. The hook-laden and infectively half-recited/half-sung parable “Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!” makes for an incredibly light-hearted and friendly song despite the literary lyrics.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is “Hold On To Yourself”, a more heady song that drifts along with dreamy despondence and harbors a claustrophobic and anguished tale that brings a familiar balance to the album.
The flawless delivery and perfect chemistry between Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds is what makes Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! an impressive effort, but the elevation of creativity is what will mark this unique album as a solid classic in their catalog. Old fans will enthusiastically adore it and new fans will embrace it with open arms.
Slave Unit cuts a manic swath across the punk, industrial, rock and hip-hop arenas, finely dicing chunks of each into a cauldron of social and personal frustrations topped with a sharp dose of piss and vinegar. Gritty and raw, yet meticulously structured, The Battle for Last Place is a successful melding of grainy guitars, rockin’ beats and enough bitterly shouted vitriol to make a unicorn cry. What sets the album apart is the simple consistency in which it offers great songs. There’s no filler here—just a versatile blend of kick-ass that’s sure to hit a chord with anyone who hears it.
Filmed live in 2004, Palast der Republik captures a striking Neubauten performance in the condemned former East German Parliament building for which the film is named. Assisted by a choir of 100 members and the building itself (which lends steel girders and railings as instruments), Einstürzende Neubauten live up to their sonic reputation, melding experimental and found sounds with industrial rhythms and Blixa Bargeld’s perfectly disciplined vocals. Palast der Republik is probably best described not as a musical performance, but as performance art that is its own soundtrack. Even viewers unfamiliar with the band will find themselves entranced with this spectacle.
Bonus features include full-length band commentary in German and English and 5.1 Dolby Surround treatment, as well as encore performances of “Die Befindlichkeit des Landes” and “Redukt”.
One could describe this graphic oddity as cute and twisted. Not like Happy Tree Friends or Happy Bunny or any other Happy-Whogivesafuck juxtapositions you might see on a T-shirt at Hot Topic, but more like—well—I can’t actually think of a direct analogy for such an already freakish spectacle. The fact is that a couple of rats, Preston and Moe, obsess over a ball of shit, and when they go off to play on a human corpse their pal Aldo wrecks their fecal orb and must set off on a futile journey to replace it.
Taking on the role of Beavis and Butthead-esque teenage losers (including Stewart!), these rats partake in a story as miniaturized and yet as profound as the illustrations that bring them to life, scatological- and mom-jokes aside.
The novelty is that each panel of this story is a departure from French’s usual modus operandi of pillowy pointillism. Line drawings are set in a 1 x 1 cm square and enlarged to the pocket-sized format of the book with unique effect. The forced method of preventing detail allows the story to progress more with the simplistic pictures and less with the relatively insignificant text downplayed by a Courier font.
As a bonus, French has added some larger character portraits in her more well-known style. And if that weren’t enough: there’s a lovely gallery of guest renderings of shit balls. No shit!
“What else can be said / I wish that I were dead”—a lyric typical of, yet not exclusive to Toman’s depressive mythos. When added to the crepuscular, ethereal folk style and private nature in which its stories are spun, Make ‘em Scream creates a narrow keyhole into a sullen slice of life that’s not yours, yet is. Listening to these songs is a lot like seeing a movie of yourself at your most sullen, like reality TV—but a horrific distortion where you’re watching yourself consider the noose in your closet. Toman welcomes you into his life and his mind while holding a carnival mirror up to yours. The reflection may not be pretty, but it’s difficult to look away. Enjoy!
Weird alien-like robots, miles of half-inch diameter wiring, music stands, violins, a cello, a laptop…and behind the laptop, one J.G. Thirlwell, otherwise known as Foetus, but tonight playing as Manorexia. Or, more accurately, like the mad genius behind it. Interpreting his twisted visions are a handful of musicians and a motley bunch of musical robots created by the LEMUR project, forming an Asimovian orchestra of cyborg surrealism.
The first half of the show consists of manic Manorexia pieces, frantic and frenzied with lulls of disconcerting white space. Violins squeal, quiver and go silent in turns, bringing the cinematic quality of Thirlwell’s work to life. Most notable of these pieces is the haunting “Toxodon Mourning”, which is just as goosebump-inspiring as when I heard the group rehearsing it earlier.
The second portion of the show is billed as Thirlwell with Lemurbots and String Quartet. This time they’re performing various compositions, including some music commissioned for LEMUR by Thirlwell and showcasing the extent of the robots’ instrumental abilities. J.G. now leaves his laptop and takes center stage to conduct. The music isn’t far removed from the style of the Manorexia pieces except for the slew of mechanical gadgets making the music even more fascinating to experience (as if the hypnotizing violinists weren’t enough). The final piece performed is perhaps J.G.’s most well known, and with good reason—“No Vacancy”, otherwise known as Adult Swim’s The Venture Bros. theme is the most frenetic of the evening and zaps the audience with a final bolt of lightning. Excellent show.