Whew. I have not posted in 4EVA. My old laptop died about a month ago (RIP), and I've been building an Mp3 empire since. In my quest for the best (derp), I've found some lovely netlabel ambient records since.

Herzog's First Summer and the Running Dream (Resting Bell, 2009), is a blissful, crackly, half-hour work. A cohesive, stylish collection, this album is perfect for an afternoon nap. If you'd prefer an afternoon shit-your-pants, pick up Sylvie Walder and entia non's Bewilderment (Resting Bell, 2009). It's darkened shit (not Swans-dark, mind you), but sufficiently airy to be called 'lovely'.

You may also want to check out Herzog's earlier releases over at Archive.org. And in terms of paid-for ambient, Loscil's Endless Falls has been in heavy rotation in my CD player at night. You can get it at Amazon for just $6.

Reviews of Jessica Bailiff, Swans (!?!?!), and new releases later this week. Maybe. Finally, don't expect to see any new photos in the Flickr sidebar as I'm taking a break from the site for a while. Fuck online popularity (I mean, Christ, look at this ghost town of a site).

In my previous post I subtly complained about the lack of a new Knife album. Well, you see, life has been going great for me as of late, and I've been happy everyday for the past week. I thought this week was pretty good. Then karma was like, "Hey, stop bitching, here" and gave me a NEW KNIFE ALBUM. FUCK YEAHHHHHHH.

Whew. Entitled Tomorrow, In a Year, the new album is the soundtrack to an 'electro-opera' The Knife has been performing. It's based on some Charles Darwin shit and the album sounds like Zeena Parkins mating with Autechre in a tropical wood. Godammnit if that makes any sense, but you should pick up this album if you like 'crazy drone music'. It's an interesting experiment.

And thanks, life. Everything is better with a slice of The Knife.

...what

Get the album at Lala

Oh. Hmm. Yep.

Well, next best thing to a new Knife album, I guess.

Got the new Owen Pallett album in the mail yesterday. He's eschewed the Final Fantasy persona to please some Japanese people or something. Impressions: Gay man is good with violin. Gay man returns with violin and a concept album based on an ultraviolent farmer. Album grows slow on you, but surely, it grows. Gay puns all around. Everyone's happy. Buy it.

Anywho, new releases arriving soon that may interest you (and I, er, need a list for myself):
Massive Attack
Jaga Jazzist (Jan 25)
Sade (Feb 9)
Four Tet
Beach House
Hot Chip
Yeasayer
Xiu Xiu
Liars (March)
Goldfrapp (not 'till March)
Flying Lotus (April)

I’m in one of those creative moods. One of those moods that comes every couple months. Not where I simply feel like taking a photograph or writing a story, but one of those states in which I feel like doing both those things—along with critiquing everything I own, scripting a comic book, making a video, cutting up new noise music. Everything creative that I enjoy doing I feel like doing. Do you know what I mean? I hope you do. And I hope this feeling stays intact.

My new ‘creative thing’ is the capsule review. I don’t think I invented it. I’m sure I didn’t. I’m just not sure if ‘capsule review’ is the proper name for a short, succinct review that abandons the gristle for the heartiest of truth and lulz. Whatever it’s called (if anything), you’ll be seeing it often here on Squid Can from now on. Album reviews, DVD reviews, TV reviews, and—especially—comic book reviews will now be in capsule format unless I really feel like diving into the virtues of some work. I’ve come to realize that with the amount of media I digest—music, television, short fiction, graphic novels—there is no way I can ever feel ‘complete’ towards consuming them without some sort of judgment, some critique. It helps me make sense of it all, it helps me to make connections, and it helps my writing skills. I suppose that, after all the years of half-assing essays in religion class, I’ve finally realized the importance of reflection. Reflection can make a mindless consumer a responsible one. Writing is reflection. Art’s reflection. A whole lot of thinking shit is reflection shit. This shit right here? Reflection. Mind blown.

I’ve set up a few new banners (80s gals, natch), and I’m looking to make some other improvements towards the site. I’ve also come to realize that this site looks like Sodom and Gomorrah in Internet Explorer. So, IF YOU’RE USING IE RIGHT NOW—use Firefox instead. I like this theme and I’d rather not change it. To see the old theme, you could always sign up for an account and select the old theme. But that’s a pain in the ass. Finally, I’m working on a capsule review page entirely for the Uncanny X-Men. I have so much time on my hands. Why not use it for something mildly useless instead of completely useless?

Well, I’m off to bed. And when I wake up, it’ll start again—consumption, reflection, creation, repetition. Beautiful stuff, no?

The year 2009 was, for me (as I’m sure it was for many people) a mixed bag. I’ve always found New Years Eve a fine time for reflection—or getting wasted, if you’re so inclined—and this year is no different. I don’t want to fixate on the fact that a new decade is arriving, and I’d rather just look at it through a lighthearted lens. In seriousness, though, the position that I’m finding myself in now is infinitely better than the position I left 2008 in.

As always, music plays pretty heavily into my life and my memories—and while I discovered some old classics this year (Boards of Canada and The Dreaming, thank fucking god), there were several albums released this year that really wowed me. Don’t take this as a “best of” list—it isn’t meant to be universal by any means. These are the new albums that affected me personally in 2009—though they would make fine traveling companions for just about anyone in this new decade. Happy New Year.

NOTE: I might be missing a few albums. If that’s the case I’ll update the list later. And, hey, there's INTERACTIVE TOOLTIPS on the images. Definitely advanced stuff for 2010.

Grizzly Bear – Veckatimest

Yeah, it’s hipster bullshit. But that’s okay. On the third album by the Brooklyn plaid-aficionados, the gleefully ambient melodies from Yellow House have been surrendered to a cleaner, more accessible aesthetic. A good thing? Perhaps not entirely, but it’s difficult to argue with the choicer results, such as “Foreground”. Points for Grizzly Bear’s impeccable timing, however—the chilled, plaintive atmosphere of Veckatimest arrived at an advantageous moment, providing a perfect segue into summer. [Mp3] [CD]

Laura A and the Bad Grades - Lightnin' Bolt

It's a mighty shame, but it seems that a truly compelling release from a largely unknown artist has been ignored. Not that this sort of thing doesn't happen often in the music world--Christ, a look at Amie Street and one can't help the feeling that it seems a graveyard for great unknowns--but the offense against Laura A and her delinquent pals is clearly criminal here. With command reminiscent of Neko Case, Laura A achieves much the same mien as her more popular counterpart--only with less instruments, less fury, and a general feeling of coziness. Unfortunately, this EP is only five songs--another mighty shame given the command demonstrated on songs such as the title track. Not to be a douche, but--where's the full album? [Mp3]

HEALTH – Get Color

Depressing noise rock—with structure. Compared to the relatively helter-skelter feeling of their debut, HEALTH returned in the autumn with an album of uniform chaos. Nestled inside blistering melodies were disjointed vocals and ballistic experimentalism—a gloriously messy show. [Mp3] [CD]

Arthur and Martha – Navigation

The lasting power of this record I find a bit suspect—to be honest, I don’t think I’ve touched it since August. Even if I’m not entirely sold on the lifespan of this English debut, I remember quite well what forged the initial attraction: fuzzy and nostalgic electropop with heavy British flavour. Tear-jerking? Not quite, but it certainly has the capacity to rend emotion when the time is right. [Mp3] [CD]

Converge – Axe to Fall

Whereas Arthur and Martha can make the heart supple wax, Axe to Fall can melt
your entire fucking body into gelatin. Having seen several of the songs played live, I can confirm that Converge remains on the top of the metalcore/chaotic hardcore/whatever-the-fuck-it-is scrap heap—not that we would expect anything less from Jacob Bannon and friends. [Mp3] [CD]

Midaircondo – Curtain Call

Though I think I’ve explained enough the magnificence of this record, it has to be stated again: the ambient, jazzy duo have consistently proven their worth in the crowded arena of knob twiddlers and sample mashers. What’s next? [Mp3] [CD]

Lullatone – Songs that Spin in Circles

As blessedly cool as Midaircondo are, their album does not quite match Lullatone’s 2009 achievement. The latest album from the husband and wife pair—an album designed to be looped so as to put children to sleep—swaps some of the bittersweet electronics that guided their early releases for a more organic atmosphere. Make no mistake, the twinkly electric wonder of Lullatone’s music is ever-present; it’s just in a smaller amount. No need to get anxious about it—Songs that Spin in Circles is an effusively natural and reassuring piece of music. Some of the circuit-board wizardry may be lost, but the innocence and tranquility are intact—and they contribute to what is one of Lullatone’s best efforts yet. [Mp3] [CD]

Neko Case – Middle Cyclone

Hands down, hands up, hands fucking sideways—I don’t care where your hands are, or if you’re handless or, whatever. This is the best album of 2009. I was introduced to Case via—believe it or not—Spinner’s daily Mp3. The promo photo—one of Case wearing skimpy-looking dress wear while pulling at licorice with her teeth—had at first convinced me that Case was nothing more than another throwaway female vocalist. How fucking shamed I was upon hearing the entire record.

The days immediately preceding Middle Cyclone’s release were spent in Pennsylvania, at the home of my Dad’s best friend. My Dad had been hospitalized while on vacation, and I spent a few nights in a medium-sized Monaca, PA, apartment. Without going into further detail, let me say that it was not a cheery time in my life (aside from the stunning hospitality and generosity of my Dad’s friends).

I don’t want to imply that Case was some otherworldly, hunky-dorifying ray of light that dropped into my life—she wasn’t. But Middle Cyclone was released in what was arguably one of the most harrowing months of my life, and yet it continued to stay with me—through walks on the bike path in spring, summer afternoons, and, ultimately, at a refreshing concert given by Ms. Case in November.

One of my Christmas gifts? Why, Middle Cyclone. I had already paid for an Mp3 version, but I needed this album on disc. Why? This isn’t an album to just have sitting around on your computer. This in album to take with you—on car rides, to friend’s homes, wherever you find yourself. Middle Cyclone is an album that reaffirmed something I had been unwilling to admit to myself—when miserable, we tend to use any control we have to make ourselves even more miserable. Middle Cyclone reminds us that we each have the power, the control, to whip misery into something far more malleable, far more insightful—unrestrained, fulfilling hope. [Mp3] [CD]

Honorable Mentions (in no order)

Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Band – Self-titled
True hipsters would probably make fun of me for liking this. Eh. The Seattle-based outfit caught my attention with their unusually fun departures from ‘indie rock’ tropes—a promising band.

Regina Spektor – Far
Fond memories of searching for the Salvation Army thrift store, in comfortably undemanding summer heat, to this album.

Matt & Kim – Grand
Drums, strange manboy vocals, and summery fun--an album far from the damp sack of shit I've likely just described it as.

J Dilla – Jay Stay Paid
The final chapter in Jay Dee saga? Maybe—a fitting tribute to the late Detroit producer regardless.

Lady GaGa – The Fame Monster
Yeah. I know. It’s terribly, awfully, horrendously disposable in the end but for the five days that you do enjoy it: you, too, will succumb to GaGa’s derivative, sloppy, unoriginal bullshit. Or maybe you won’t. I bet this paragraph isn't even here tomorrow.

Holly Williams – Here With Me
I wrote a review of this one back in July—my opinion hasn’t changed; this is still an album of rough-and-tough grace.

Andrea Bocelli – My Christmas
Nothing intense here. Rather, Bocelli’s grand take on the Christmas tradition is surprisingly laid-back and fun.

Annie Lennox – "Shining Light" [Single]
Just found this song the other day. Released on Lennox’s greatest hits collection. An elegantly soulful remake of Ash’s Britpoppy original.

"Kiteracer 2" by Boards Of Canada + "Pleen 1930s" by Chris Clark

The first track here, "Kiteracer 2" comes from BoC's unreleased Old Tunes Vol. 2. A very mellow track, it resists any common description. The poetic approach is much more apt, so imagine this: you are driving across a bridge. The sun is setting; you are heading towards it. You know of all the troubles that you have out behind you; of all the troubles that still plague you. You are unsure of the troubles ahead. Regardless of this fear, you continue driving, moving forward, compelled not only by necessity but by the beauty in tragedy.

"Pleen 1930s" is, as the title suggests, pure nostalgia. There is an immediate, ambiguous airiness that permeates the song before a very simple, very glittering, piano melody enters. Things seem to move in slow motion. Despite its contrast to more fatal release of "Kiteracer 2", both songs manage to provide a wonderfully bittersweet happiness--a happiness that, while reminding us of life's beauty, simultaneously reminds us of its deepest regrets.

Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah et al., and good night.

Download "Kiteracer 2" and "Pleen 1930s" (Mediafire, 192 Mp3)

Or gentry, whatever, since this blog is supposed to be feminist or something.

Anywho, we have something important to discuss, folks. Squid Can is nearing its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY. Tomorrow will be the two-year mark since the first review posted here (it was of Homogenic, naturally). What does this mean? Well, not much, really. As you may have noticed (or not), Squid Can has a new theme. Yes, after two years of the same ole' style, I've moved onto a new look---one with a beautifully rotating header (refresh the page for moar k3wl images, bro). Well, a few things got shuffled in the transition from point A to point B, but don't worry (not that you were). Things will be corrected soon.

Aside from the newly fandangled graphical tomfoolery, I've decided to revisit the best posts of Squid Can in a five-part retrospective entitled: The Old Man and the Squid: Why I Do Keep Writing this Shit.

You will laugh. You will cry. You will rage. You will read an entirely new review of Homogenic tomorrow. And you will enjoy.

Or not, I really can't say. Eh eh. Nothing else. Hint.

Well, I was going to post some Cocteau Twins for y'all, and I was going to state that their glacial shoegazing is the perfect soundtrack for trimming a tree or eating holiday Oreos or some shit. I then remembered that all the available pictures of the Cocteau Twins are beyond Squid Can's acceptable level of fugly (hence Gertrude Stein's notable absence from this site). Thus the reason for providing the following track from an artist that not only flew under everyone's radar but was probably more hidden than Santa is to NORAD.

Okay, enough dumb jokes. Olivia McClurkin--who I just learned (as in I just googled her name and discovered this) died around this time last year--was a gospel vocalist. Her 2008 album, The Healing Song, is certainly just that: a gospel album. But since people invent dumb genre names frequently (nu rave hurrrr durrrr), I've decided to tag this album with the following genre (one of high invention, clearly): trip-gospel. BECUZ IT'S LIKE GOSPEL AND DA TRIPPIDY HOPPITY, DO YA GET IT?

Well, here's a free sample for you to download (256vbr, Mediafire), and you can buy Ms. McClurkin's album for mere pocket change (seriously) at Amie Street. Enjoy!

Two years ago I was a huge PJ Harvey fan. Not a memorabilia-collecting sort of huge, but a sizable chunk of my listening was spent on the lovely Polly Jean. I don't find myself listening to the old gal these days as much as I used to--too much ambient and noise rock to digest, natch--but Harvey's music is still a mighty fine example of what 90s alternative could do: rend norms, bridge gaps, and cultivate cults.

Download two PJ Harvey tracks (192 & 256k Mp3, Mediafire)

The song "Goodbye Horses" is most readily remembered as the track that accompanied Buffalo Bill's gender-bending dance scene in The Silence of the Lambs. The singer of this gem, Q Lazzarus, is best remembered as not being remembered. But this should not be the case. Q Lazzarus--a woman with one hell of a husky voice--produced so little output (at most, three songs, not including remixes) that she was hastily forgotten by the general public, barring the occasional Buffalo Bill parody. So here I give you "Goodbye Horses", not in hopes of inciting copyright watchdogs (not that I've given a shit about the other hundreds of Mp3s I've posted), but in the hopes that you will enjoy it.

Go ahead. Try to listen to this song just once. And when you fail at that, come join in me the camp that loves this woman's oddly endearing music.

Download (256vbr, Mediafire)

WARNING: Extreme hipster douchebaggery is in this post.

There are times when I look at my 300+ scrobbles of Animal Collective and feel great shame, saying to myself, "How? How did I become such a mindless indie kid asshole?" But then I listen to songs like "Reverend Green" and I think I understand the increasing relevance of Animal Collective.

Doubtlessly, they are a band made by the internet. Without thousands upon thousands of twenty-something hipsters plugging into Stereogum and Pitchfork each day, verbally fapping over Panda Bear's latest t-shirt, there would be no Animal Collective. Yet thanks to the internet--the Holy Grail of the postmodern age--Animal Collective has exploited a niche for its mildly experimental approach to 'rock music,' whatever that means anymore.

Rolling Stone seems to hold some sort of grudge against Animal Collective. It's understandable, given that Stone is as far from being culturally relevant as Dane Cook is from actual comedy (oooo, burn'd). Counterculture is no longer 'counter' to anything. It's mainstream. Animal Collective takes gleeful residence in that fact.

Generation Y (moar like generation postmodern douchebag, amirite?) takes great pleasure in the shallowest of cultural depths--Jersey Shore, Lady GaGa, Will Ferrell. To put it crudely, Generation Y loves shit. Animal Collective is to shit what Led Zeppelin was to counterculture. Their songs are anthems of shit as Zeppelin's songs were anthems of rebellion. Hipsters and semi-hipsters find this to be just about the greatest thing ever, for Animal Collective reveals what Generation Y knows but is unwilling to admit--that, taken as a whole, we are a generation of shit-connoisseurs. And we would have it no other way.

Download "Winter Wonderland" (Mediafire, 320 Mp3)

God, I'm so sick of not posting here. It's fucking Christmas. This is prime blogging season (derp). Here are some (sorta) rare remixes from that wacky alternative pop singer Bahzhork (that's how you pronounce her name, right?).

Oh, and the review challenge is extended to January 31st now. Um. Yeah.

And, hey, new menu buttons! And Christmasy icons. Swell. Maybe you can update the site once in a while, Alex. You know, when you're not being a douche.

B.J. York Remixes on Mediafire

P.S. Got accepted to Emerson. Celebrate.

Maybe I'll start posting new, interesting content when I get un-sick and I makeup my work before break. Ah, you don't care. I'm just some guy who gives you sample songs in lossless. New reviews tomorrow (fingers crossed; not trying to troll your hopes).

Download "The Smallest Weird Number" by Boards Of Canada (Mediafire, ALAC)

Wow, great pick to kick off the Christmas season, Alex. A song called "Love Less"? Class. Real classy. Why not upload some MBV's seminal album of the same name, huh? That's 'Christmasy.' And that picture, what's that? Some avant-garde feminist thing? Screw that, you don't even have pictures of snowmen or anything, do you?

Sometimes it's a hassle to post things here. I look at people's Tumblrs and I'm like, "Wow, that's it?" or "What, you made 800 posts this month alone?" I need to format this shit like its 1998. Hell, I'm so far in the blogging past I might as well drag out my old CueCat.
Download "Love Less" by New Order (Megaupload, V0 Mp3)

P.S. In this post: foreshadowing.

Obligatory Thanksgiving post. Listen to some British music. Off to Best Buy in four-and-a-half-hours with two friends. WHAT IS GOING ON HERE. Reviews will be back soon.

Download "Vanishing Point" by New Order (Wikisend, V0 Mp3) (Link expired)

I'm on a total Boards Of Canada kick lately. I've been re-buying the albums I own on Mp3 mainly so I can listen to the BEST BAND EVAR in the highest quality when I get my new headphones for Christmas.

Yeah, I need a life.
Download "Open the Light"

Blacklisted by Neko Case
2002, Bloodshot Records, 14 tracks at 39 min.
Listen Buy CD

RATING: 47 out of 50

Seeing Neko Case perform “Deep Red Bells” live was quite the treat. Following the concert, I bought some pastries and iced tea at the local CVS, wanting to fill my stomach. No cheese Danish, though, could be as satisfying as seeing someone with such command over the human voice. Case’s singing is anything but typical. Indeed, she assumed something of an extraordinary persona when she was on stage, aside from banter with the audience and her admittance to cutting one song a few seconds short.

Painting Case as superhuman is ridiculous, but it’s difficult to describe her vocal talents without resorting to some hyperbole. There’s something universal and dreamlike to her voice and lyrics; but one look at the person spitting these words and it’s hard not to feel a sense of detachment from someone who can sing so damned well.

Likely the second-best communicator of Case’s skills, Blacklisted is an alleged country album. More than anything it is a vocal album—Case’s voice often soars above the arrangements, drawing attention to itself without even trying. The arrangements themselves carry a vaguely American aroma; they are not so much specific as they are evocative. To take Blacklisted as a vocal album would be a grave mistake, however. Case needs (at minimum) a plain-colored backdrop against which to let loose her siren’s wail; otherwise, hers is a voice without any place or time.

Case’s sense of setting and mood is of special import to her music. The title track is profoundly grave, “I Wish I Was the Moon” is a humongous dose of the bittersweet, and “Lady Pilot” is suave, sly, comfort. Case maintains the same essential range throughout Blacklisted, and no one song varies wildly from another. Rather, it is Case’s ability to morph each track ever-so-slightly into something more magnificent, more wholesome than the last that stuns the listener.

Blacklisted? Hardly.

Volta by Björk
2007, Atlantic, 10 tracks at 51 min.
Listen Buy CD

RATING: 28 out of 50

Oh, Volta. Björk’s most…recent album. Do we really have to review this? Do you know I’ve been trying to review this album for, like, two years? Two frigging years? Not like this is Tristram Shandy—it’s not. Did you read that last sentence in a really snobbish art kid tone? Well, you should have, because if I was speaking to you, that’s how I would of said it.

Ten tracks, a bright red gatefold cover, a sticker, and some ridiculous photographs of crochet gone mad—what does Volta have to offer? Well, it’s got a lot of horns. You could call it a ‘horny’ record! Ba-dum-tish! Actually, that statement isn’t far off given Björk’s slant towards self-pleasure on her last two records—she’s gotten quite into the idea of ‘make art for oneself before making art for anyone else’. That idiom, though, is usually reserved for writers. Music is a more of a social art, and Björk’s tendency of late to serve herself first and foremost is not the most fitting attribute.

Take, for example, “Pneumonia”. Something about being a recluse, or something about something. k, thx for three great albums, bjork, see you in pagan heaven. It would be nice to have this review without blindly stupefied sarcasm, but Volta simply begs mockery. “Pneumonia” is as delicate, suspended in air, as is the “Anchor Song”, but its length and pretension—those fucking HORNS—debase its beauty beyond a quick skip-through of the song.

“Declare Independence” is Björk’s take on punk, which is dumb because Björk just fails at politics. “Vertebrae by Vertebrae” is an uninspired Björk singing over the same bellowing brass that appeared on “Hunter Vessel” from Drawing Restraint 9. “The Dull Flame of Desire”, a duet with Antony Hegarty, is far too long, and if I wanted seven minute songs with a female vocalist I’d take out one of my shoegaze records, not Björk. Am I getting my point across?

Sample this before purchase. Or, better yet, just get the songs worth any salt: “I See Who You Are” and “My Juvenile”. These are the most tender cuts of meat; the choicest rib. Everything else is grizzle, even the hoopla of “Earth Intruders” and “Innocence”. Though an admirable effort—no, no, forget that. Put out something that doesn’t suck, Björk. We pagan sprites are a picky bunch.

Nightclubbing by Grace Jones
1981, Island, 9 tracks at 38 min.
Listen Buy CD

RATING: 50 out of 50

Androgyny—the cornerstone of every PoMo asshole’s personal philosophy. Well, it’s the cornerstone of this PoMo asshole’s personal philosophy. And probably Lady GaGa’s, too. That counts for something, right? Regardless of where one stands on the issue of androgynes, it is important to understand that Grace Jones is one of the best androgynous folks ever. This is fact.

I’d like to say that it’s opinion, but I can’t, as one listen to Jones’ 1981 album Nightclubbing should convince you that Grace Jones is awfully good at what she does—and what she does is svelte, sexy, urban-nymphette disco pop. Sounds lovely, no? It is, of course. Had it been otherwise, “Pull Up to the Bumper”—a song about a crowded street, clearly—wouldn’t have been a hit, and Jones’ interpretation of the Sting-penned “Demolition Man” would be a rather dreary affair.

Thankfully, though, the managerial hands of Chris Blackwell and Alex Sadkin would not allow anything droll to go under Ms. Jones’ name; one can assume that Jones didn’t want a dull record either—she’s in full display of her prowess here. There is a certain bravado to her voice—it is not demanding, nor unassuming, yet it is articulate, and with her weapon of a voice Jones is able to entice even the stoniest listener. Her seductive skills extend even to her nonchalance, as demonstrated by her cover of Iggy Pop’s “Nightclubbing”.

Nightclubbing is a fine album. There’s a unique ‘grooviness’ to it—a rather confounding funk, something all too appropriate for Jones’ eccentric persona. Yet there is a comfort, a coziness, to Nightclubbing. On the surface it suggests warmth and friendliness; in the subtext there’s some rough sex. By the closing track, you’ve found yourself magnetized to Jones—a tall, genderless, slightly intimidating, black woman. It’s that sort of feat that makes Nightclubbing a timeless album, one the sanitized pop princesses—say, Lady Gaga—will have trouble achieving, as they are not tall, genderless, slightly intimidating black women. All in all, that’s probably for the best—the Western World only needs one flattop-sporting disco dominatrix, and we’ve found her in Grace Jones.

Generation Star Wars by Alec Empire
1994, Mille Plateaux, 13 tracks at 1 hr, 13 min.
Listen Buy CD

RATING: 46 out of 50

L’enfant terrible of German techno, Alec Empire is a man who is very apt at displaying the polarities of his mother culture. Like East and West Germany, Empire’s music is likewise split into opposing factions. He can be stoically ambient, removed of any feeling but fear (Low On Ice, for example). As demonstrated by his early rave work, The Destroyer, and Atari Teenage Riot, he is equally skilled in crafting liberally-minded blitzkriegs of ballistic noise. On his second solo effort, Empire evidences his forte for the dualistic with a epic, hour-plus LP of varying electronic moods.

The results are highly stratified and inconsistent, though Empire’s spotty approach to chaos is often part of his charm. Of the seventy minutes on the disc, the first ten are devoted to one outstanding track, in which several minutes of slow ambience are blurred into a ferocious drum n’ bass rhythm. I’d say it’s derivative of Richard James, but I can’t; this disc was released around the same time Aphex was building his own name. The remaining sixty minutes are likewise varied, with tongue-in-cheek electric exotica (“Sonyprostitutes”), haunting vignettes (“Smack”), and dazzlingly frozen messages from outer space (“Pussy Heroin”).

It’s a mixed bag for certain, and one would think that a man of many talents might not be particularly apt in any one of them. Even if the contents of this disc can figuratively be found elsewhere—and they can—it’s the no holds barred approach which Empire takes to fashioning his own little planet that works. No resource is left stocked; everything is exhausted for exhaustion’s sake.

Writes one Discogs user, “This can only come from Berlin!” That statement, quite bluntly and eloquently, sums up the achievement of Generation Star Wars.

Debut by Björk
1993, Elektra, 11 tracks at 48 min.
Listen Buy CD

RATING: 31 out of 50

Before Björk became international symbol of reporter abuse—oh, wait, she’s always been a symbol for the semi-socially-detached, awkward, indie cool sort of person who just doesn’t care about anything besides finding their place in the world. Hell, she complained upon the release of “Possibly Maybe”, saying it was the first song she wrote that was ‘hopeless’, and that such an addition to her catalog peeved her. This was, obviously, before she started writing songs about explosions and purses and suicide bombers.

The Björk of Debut is very much unlike the Björk of Volta. Here she was a young woman, and it shows—she’s romantic, a little homesick, and apparently she really wants to hit the club: half of these tracks are only-slightly-atypical house-romping fare. This isn’t an inherently bad thing. Yet for a female vocalist who’s given us some of the most emotionally charged work in the past fifteen years of her field, it’s a little disappointing to listen to this record and say to oneself, “Huh. So this is Björk.”

On single “Big Time Sensuality”, Björk sings that she doesn’t know her “future after this weekend” and that she’d rather not know, regardless of its content. One can’t help listen and think that Björk needs to grow up; she’s talented enough to go beyond wispy vocals and keyboards that smack of Eastern flavour. Thankfully, she did—she grew into a magnificent monster of sorts, but she grew up nonetheless. On Debut, though, there is little maturity—it’s all cool air and sweet nothings. This will be fine by some, irritating for others, and a plain “meh” for those such as myself, who refuse to take this record as anything but simple pop music.

Boys for Pele by Tori Amos
1996, Atlantic, 18 tracks at 70 min.
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RATING: 47 out of 50

Ah, Boys for Pele. A clumsy, difficult introduction to Amos; an introduction not recommended by her fans largely for those reasons. Keep in mind, though, that Tori Amos fanatics are far from being on any radical end of the musical spectrum. There’s nothing ‘radical’ about any of Tori Amos’ records—feminism, a piano, some songs about men, and a whole bunch of—as Nabokov might say—“moth-bitten” mythologies.¹ But don’t let that stop you, as Boys for Pele may just be Amos’ best work.

This was the first Tori Amos album I purchased, around two years ago. It didn’t ‘turn me off’ from her music, mainly because I found it so rich, very full-bodied and baroque. And, hey, there were a bunch of postmodern, ambient photos in the booklet, all of them probably taken with an ISO of like a billion. Two-years-ago-me was, doubtlessly, impressed.

But even more impressive than a bunch of cheesy Lomographs was the way Amos raged on this record. There was a hell of a lot of harpsichord but it all sounded violent, if at times hopelessly fragile. The wit was sharpened and honed, despite the occasional dose of forced eclecticism.² It was a grand ole’ time, if songs about heroin and the ‘girl zone’ are your idea of fun.

Good times have to end somewhere, though, and one wonders why Amos had to make this record the musical equivalent of The Second Sex. Eighteen songs? That’s pushing it, especially when the hooks start to drift farther and farther apart from one another (“Putting the Damage On”). The first half of the record is generally fantastic, and it’s the second portion where one starts to encounter problems. Amos begins to soften her tone, and by the final track she sounds like a delicate twig, ready to snap. Why not finish strong?

Despite its shortcomings, Amos demonstrates on Boys for Pele the ability to merge highly idiosyncratic mumblings with classical flavour and alternative appeal. It may not be a work of genius, but this album is hard to pass up as its influence can be seen so clearly in the tender-throated starlets of today—Bat For Lashes, Poe, Fiona Apple. Boys for Pele isn’t magnificent, but it is essential.

Notes
1: Can't find the quote but I'm almost sure I've read it somewhere (maybe The Paris Review?)
2: Also demonstrated by Amos’ breastfeeding of a pig in the CD booklet.

...Into someone's 'bumper' that is. No subtext there, right? Hmm? Yep.
So, it's 1981 when Grace Jones releases this video. There's wide-angle city shots, blurred lights, androgyny, and one hell of a funky chorus. Did I say '1981'? I think I meant nineteen-eighty-AWESOME.

Download "Slave to the Rhythm" (Hot Blooded Version)(via Filedropper)

Something nice for Veterans Day.
Download "Dawn Chorus" by Boards Of Canada (Link expired)

P.S. Cheers for a year or so of Squid Can not-sucking--the first 'good' post in months also happened to be the first mixtape.

Go to bed.

Download"Swinging in the Park at Night" by Lullatone (Wikisend) (Link expired)

Old pic. Washington, DC, May 2008. Taken from a hotel window.

Download "Statue of Liberty" by Boards Of Canada

Curtain Call by Midaircondo
2009, Twin Seed, 11 tracks at 43 min.
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RATING: 49 out of 50

Roughly four years have passed since Midaircondo’s phenomenal debut, Shopping for Images. The path’s been cluttered—one less bandmate, a label switch, and a sudden (or rather gradual) change in musical disposition for the Swedish gals. The brooding darkness of their debut is not entirely lost; it just happens to be a bit more subtle. In place of the furrowed-brow-gloominess that solidified their freshman LP? Why, a terribly violent and bittersweet feeling—and plenty of it.

The opening track (also the title track) instantly recalls images of days long since past—it’s sunny yet clinical, immersed yet detached from its source. Following track “Come With Me” shatters this formula, brining into play an industrial-esque, jazzy, evil dance sort of track, complete with distorted vocals and delicately grinding synth. If it’s meant to be intimidating, it is. Midaircondo has gone martial, it seems.

Then we get “Reports on the Horizon”, in which gently lilting horns are complemented by the characteristic Swedish-sorceress vocals and what sounds to be a reversed piano. It’s hopeful, glorious—and it crashes back down almost immediately into the threatening “Below” and “Bringing Me Home”.

And maybe that’s what makes this record not-quite-an-improvement over Shopping for Images but a companion. It’s two-faced, tricky, dramatic, perversely genteel. Removed from the intimacy of their debut (excluding “Silk, Silver, and Stone”), Midaircondo have now proven themselves to be some mighty furious ladies. I’m not entirely sure what they’re steamed about, but whatever is in their craw should stay there. With their ferocious new outlook and their ever-present talent, Midaircondo appears to be nigh-invincible. Or maybe the Swedes are just really cool people.

Shopping for Images by Midaircondo
2005, Type Records, 11 tracks at 53 min.
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RATING: 49 out of 50

Swedes are good at a lot of things—meatballs, berries, tennis, dynamite, Walpurgis Night, and classifying things into other things. They are also amazingly talented in producing music. The Knife, Opeth, ABBA, Robyn, the Tough Alliance, Meshuggah, Refused—all of them, delicious Swedes. Particularly apt in black metal with lyrics concerning permafrost, the Swedes are also aces in their ability to create electronic music and jazz. It should be no real surprise, then, that ambient-jazz outfit Midaircondo’s debut album, Shopping for Images, is good.

It’s real good, actually. The trio (now a duo) have produced an album that is frightfully unnerving, gloriously moody, and just plain listenable. Refusing to soak themselves in ambient tropes (fuzzy releases, drawn-out passages of near-silence), Midaircondo instead immerse their music in continual oppositions—flirtatious saxophone to meditative bleeps, plinks and plonks to ticks and tacks.

It is this friction that propels much of the album forward. We get ghostlike imperatives on the first two tracks and cloyed sentiment on “Perfect Spot”; we get windchimes on “Perfect Spot” and discordant sax on “Faces”. All of it works wonderfully—gratingly so, actually, as each song takes itself in deep seriousness and solemnity (disregarding the slyly sarcastic “Eva Stern, Shake It”).

Above anything else on the album are “Although I Heard” (the midpoint) and “I’ll Be Waiting” (the endpoint). On the first, we hear, “I didn’t stop/although I heard you coming.” On the final track, we get an infinitely more reassuring nudge: “I’ll be waiting.” It’s fierce contrast, but it’s played out in the same terms—a gentleness impeded by darkness; an ominous, fatal sort of mindset. Yet it is the slurred, hushed vocals and the music box melody on the final track, whispering their message, that will stun you. No matter how dark, how awful it seems, someone will be waiting. It’s a hazy guarantee, a sloppy prospect, and it’s a little suspect. Yet given the constantly shifting state of our world, the unobstructed flow of life at insane speeds—“I’ll be waiting” is the greatest promise you can make. Midaircondo ‘gets’ that. And they’ve put to it to such good use on their debut that it’s paralysing.

I think I should make this into a series--a photograph, a witless quip, and a piece of jive-ass music. Also, pic is sorta not related, but whatever. It's vintage, and the song is vintage. Eh. I'm not so good in logic.

Download: "My Buddy" by Doris Day (via Filedropper)