Asylum Variations shows no retread of the previous album, but a full-on evolution of what was laid down before, that familiar disaffected voice strung between the splashy synthesis and pedal-pawed bite.
Michael Rodham-Heaps
492 posts
A groundbreaking entity which later fractured into its own versions of the original dream, never to be whole again, and now some fifty-plus years later, the scattered survivors have penned four independent albums that celebrate what each brings to the unfathomable sum of its parts.
It is an interesting spectacle, because although the crowd knows to look forward to two forty-five minute sets and a short intermission, what those two sets might entail is anyone's guess. The air of anticipation is further heightened by the lack of a support slot, so nothing interferes with the trio's planned or unplanned journeys.
An impressive set of tunes with real sonic depth, concluding with the soft plumage of “‘Concrete Conversation”‘s undulatory rhythmic with croaking robotics slowly frequency combed to silence.
Slow ‘n’ steady, lulling mirroring sounds -- then just when you think it’s grasping towards some om-like union, a repetitive carpet of agitated frets throws things splendidly off-piste, the canvas suddenly gripped in an overfed rebound and answering recoil.
...they porously pull at the framework, cursively hint to the heritage but flex fresh perspectives; this is a living thing after all -- museums can wait.
he instrumental energy of these compositions is off the scale. Instinctively light and airy, their complexity playful, imaginative; everything vibrantly falls into place, spiralling plenty of intriguing pyrotechnics in the process.
The noir-flushed disquiet of "Uncertain" limping into a scattering post-rock pulmonary, Adi Newton’s voice a looming vulture shadow brambled in ambiguity. This album is still a keeper some forty plus years later, typified by the joy-shaped Molotov that is "Sensorium" and beyond.
A raucous revelry that burns solidly throughout, pokes the post-punk corpse, churns wildly industrial, sounds that hold well to that roughly-hued head of the cover that scars darkly primitive. Magazine really feels like a brooding wound of discontent that’s still wide open demanding to be prodded.
I knew I’d love this even before listening and when played its bleached-out summery disposition wove quite a spell, blistered with unexpected alt-pop moments that ear-wormed in the there and remained. So glad to see this back in print coupled with its reworked cousin
...plasticised blurs affixed to a melodic underling. Enveloped and overlapping textures feed in some nice weirded-out drone candy, slamming to full-on rock-out surprise before getting softly celestial. Intriguing shapes stippled and percussively bubbled, fluxing in hissy transits and snake-charmed loops.
Strange angels pouring into the on-screen fractal shapes and patterned orbits. Jarboe silhouetted, long hair flowing over her face, upturned hands to her solemnly pointed words, occasionally raising them in alter-like reverence to the intensity
...hiccuping hypnotics and slivering interchange shot through with darkened instabilities. A heady otherness The Stargazer’s Assistant have been worshipping from the get-go, imbued with ghostly burrs and vocalising vapour, spidering into a noisy abstractive rub.
...this recent 4AD culmination of their four Peel Sessions gives you an excellent band primer. The first four tracks airing months before their debut LP Fetisch was even released, barbed and gritty statements that thistle with a refreshing ferocity that guaranteed plenty of further investigation.
Loving the meditative space Sightings affords the listener, Jarboe’s drone-registered voice affixed to reverberating gong and paddling percussive on "Holy Waters" as strings and blown accompaniment warmly blur, folding into a respiring abstraction of leisurely repeat.
...a comfortable read, no daunting blocks of text and plenty of archival black and white pics to entertain you along the way. Each chapter’s contents is conveniently bookmarked by handy subject markers that have you skipping against the flow, dipping in and out of the action with ease.
Celebrating Buried Treasure’s latest Extracellular comp (which is going to get its own well deserved write up soon, I promise), label boss Alan Gubby invited a few of its featured artists to perform at a tiny arts centre just off the London Road in Reading, Berkshire. Knowing the calibre of the label’s eclectic radar and having sampled many previous happenings this was definitely an opportunity not to be missed
Paper Masks is a lovely focused affair where the hypnotic pull of the words shimmer in a peppery abstraction that invites you to taste the kernelling kinetics behind what’s being spoken.