[7-inch; self-released]

Most drone-trippers neglect the 7-inch vinyl format because they, I’m assuming, find it limiting. What’s the point of getting a good lather going if you can’t sustain it for as long as the moment demands? Bulgaria’s Mytrip don’t think this way at all. They see ambient music as a weapon, and wield it well on Empty. I’m not sure if I’d be able to tell the difference between these two six-minute exercises, even after listening to each two-dozen times, but that’s part of the appeal of dro’; nothing strays far from the motherboard, and as such each body of sound is connected, if not uniform. Like in the matrix. “Wait for Me” is endowed with some serious low-end that tore my speakers a new one, and there’s a whole other world thriving up above, enchanted by an ongoing swirl of effects sewage whose source I’m not even going to attempt to pinpoint. It’s a strong piece of work though, tunneling far beneath the earth, where only the chosen will notice (which is kinda what this whole thing we’re doing represents, no?). “Wherever You Are” seems a mellower monster until a flash flood of drone doom begins to sour souls. Mytrip pressed 250 of these; the rest is up to you.

Links: Mytrip

Jason Henn


[CS; Self-Released]

Stepping outside of the Honey Radar costume, Jason Henn seeks your Attention. But not through any sort of lackadaisical pun of the quality I just unraveled. Frankly, Attention is a misnomer. A play on words and actions that eclipses any joke I could create. A man and his guitar just playing with thoughts and space. Longer statements of circular logic; a fixation on an idea until it begins to sprout rather than cutting it off before the negatives creep in. There are moments of quiet contemplation – a bit of meditation. Then the unleashed fury of an idea gone haywire takes hold. We can only isolate ourselves for so long, as evidence by Henn’s willingness to share the final product – even if it’s just in a batch of 20 moments of minimalism. Because the white space and those black letters matter. It all matters to someone. Make it matter for you.

Links: Jason Henn


Medium Strong

[CS; Book End]

I have the suspicion there is something to do with memory at the heart of this cassette. The tidal washes of synth combine with spectral vocalizations to create an inner-thoughts oriented space. Here are memories or dreams, or some combination of the two, because who can say they absolutely know the difference? The A side is “Awake” and the B is “Retrace,” like an amnesiac’s morning routine: get up, have your coffee, try to parse out dream from reality, the subjective experience from the objective occurrences.

Even for those of us with a “normal” sense of memory, when an actual event has passed by and been locked away in the winding hallways of recollection, it becomes hard to piece together exactly what took place. Just for starters, consider this list of memory biases on the Wiki, which is the tip of the iceberg. All of that is captured succinctly here; the un-centered drifting, the individual notes like points in time peaking out and then dipping below the drone once again. That’s really the core of it: we can revisit our past, but it’s intangible, fleeting and almost futile. Even when awake we can only retrace by proxy.

Links: TALsounds - Book End

Freak Heat Waves

Bonnie’s State of Mind

[LP; Hockey Dad]

Bonnie’s State of Mind is another one of those albums that might as well not have a Side A or B; for me, it all starts with “Melt in Your Home,” and that’s that. It’s a beautiful ode to SY that treats arpeggios as they used to be treated, before OPN and the analog set (ha, not that one of course) turned it all into a computer-generated feat of programming. But then there’s “Sinking in a Pale Cloud” too, and that’s a slinky, deceptively brilliant cut, half abrasive highs, half cool, shades-on-at-night flow. Freak Heat Waves should give their bass player a raise, as they’re hard to find in this condition; also, FHW tweak around with experimental tropes more than your average indie-rock band. Therein lies a bit of a rub-a-dub: I mean, that’s just dandy fellas, the noise-isms, but what does it mean? Musicians shouldn’t feel like they have to delve into noise and the like. It’s been done, and we all are expecting it at this point. I like bands that know what they want, bands that bring home the goddamn bacon. Freak Heat Waves? Fuck, despite my little rant there, actually do pull the pork quite well. Bonnie’s State of Mind manages to establish their template while playing the seeker role, searching several different portals for sounds to suss out. These guys might be The Boggs all over again, a band with the chops to do anything (literally other than rap both of these groups seem capable of almost magical flexibility) but no clear direction. Then again, I dig/dug The Boggs, so no logic in discounting this approach. Obviously I’m a conflicted individual with a lot of issues to iron out, projecting all over these poor fellows like a bad movie director. Check out the record for yourself, it’s a trip that’ll leave you stuttering and yammering.

Links: Hockey Dad

Jacob Kirkegaard

5 Pieces

[CS; Posh Isolation]

How important is it to understand the process of how something was created? Certainly context is good, but how does one weigh the results of an effort with the process of the effort?

The results on Jacob Kierkegaard’s “5 Pieces” are breathtaking. Three cassettes of manipulated field-recordings and experimental drone, finely-tuned for auditory exploration. There is so much space in which to get lost. Focus on one curiosity-inducing sound in each piece and try to follow it through a forest of alluring ambient sound or just allow the whole fog of noises to engulf you and pull you down.

What pushes it from just “extremely good” to “fascinating” is the liner notes about the process. We are given descriptions of the creation of each track; where and when it was recorded and the exact way the sounds were produced. It gives the listener mental toys to play with, like the prompt for an act of improvisation.

Do we need this though? Well, “need” is a strong word, but I can’t honestly say I would be as enamored if that information were not provided. It adds a richness, making the music not just exciting listening but exciting to think about.

Links: Jacob Kirkegaard - Posh Isolation

Debre Damo Dining Orchestra

Debre Damo Dining Orchestra

[7-inch; self-released]

The Debre Damo Dining Orchestra are a Copenhagen-based Afro-jazz ensemble who’ve just self-released their debut single, a gleefully anachronistic two-sider that blends the raw tenor slink of Hans Dulfer, plugged-in Ethiopian jazz of Mulatu Astatke, and drone-heavy psychedelic processionals. Fronted by saxophonist Søren Lyhne Skov, the group as it is on this record (there is some variance) also features organist Peder Mertner Vind, bassist Andreas Halberg and percussionist Matthias Arbo Klein (F.W. Smolls). One usually thinks of jazz and improvised music as the realm of LPs and CDs, at least when we’re talking about documentation, but in Scandinavian jazz EPs and singles have been a pretty common medium since the Fifties.

Skov’s tone is hard-bitten and sinewy, with a graininess that wouldn’t sound out of place on any number of avant-garde releases; alto and tenor are overdubbed in the thematic sections and as an accent in “Yesega Wat,” and in three minutes there’s not a ton of stretching room, but Skov certainly establishes himself as a heavy blower against a steady and condensed rhythm section. After a bit of heel digging, Vind enters with brief and particulate organ flourishes, but the piece wraps up as quickly as it began. The flip, “Minem Aydelem,” is a fuzzy analog down-tempo number, dry laconic beat and vibrato-heavy organ pulses augmented by pillowy saxophone lines, with Klein’s array of cymbal clatter in sharp contrast to a heady stew. Steely tenor rises out of the murk for a few brief yelps, and this isn’t an entirely atmospheric piece by dint of its audible tautness. The music on this single wouldn’t have sounded at all out of place in a Scandinavian basement club nearly forty years ago, and it’s heartening to know that there’s probably quite a bit more where these tracks came from – consider your appetite whetted.

(NOTE: Video is NSFW)

Links: Debre Damo Dining Orchestra

Helena Hauff

A Tape

[CS; Handmade Birds]

I’d like to personally thank Helena Hauff and Handmade Birds because I could have SWORN I was getting into another drone debacle with this one. I could smell it. And once again, care of the label (and don’t forget, it’s run by that guy from Pyramids, another project that astounds me) that always mind-fucks me, I’ve got another burner on my hands that resists easy shelving. A Taperawks it with big, bouncy beats, synths that tell time, hand-clappage, and, as with most electronic musics, manipulations that spare us the redundancy of too much robotic thinking. It’s vexing because I know of a lot of electronic acts in the same vein but none that make sense in the context of this particular review. Helena Hauff meddles with her wares too much like a noise musician to be considered a traditional DJ, which is… actually a great problem to have, especially when, near the end of Side A, an angelic cloud of sound hovers through and drips some drone and pin-prick synth sequencing on us; heavenly.

Links: Handmade Birds


Across That White Plain

[CS; Absenter]

Should have saved this one for a cloudy day I guess, but I swear the chilly whispers of Gossimer are enough to banish Spring to a black hell on their own. It’s cold, I tell ya. Cold and fragile, and like an ice carving, Gossimer is also a sparkling beauty, tears streaming down its melting face beneath the March sunshine. Across That White Plain brings us the latest spook-folk tunes from Jennifer Williams, an aching collection of ballads so delicate, they nearly crumble under the music’s emotional weight. It’s all carefully etched into a palette of wax paper, spare arrangements of vibraphone, piano, and percussion laid down like straw bedding for Williams’ mousy voice circle around, like a house cat nervously exploring new terrain, wondering if this is indeed the safe spot to sleep that it appears to be. The songs center around a fingered guitar/vocal underbelly as sampled instruments interject like horror-holograms, swooping in to cast a cloud of uncertainty over otherwise quite lovely and optimistic sounding melodies. It’s the type of feeling you get when you’re not quite sure if you’re having a wonderful dream, or a terrifying nightmare, music that can turn on you in an instant, figuring the listener with the inexperienced eyes of a young child – curious, but maybe a little skeptical, of the beautiful things presented by the world.

Links: Gossimer - Absenter


The Future Will Be Repeated

[CS; Ba Da Bing]

From the band that brought you my favorite album of 2014 and a label that continually blows my ever-loving mind, we get another dense set of eroding drone from Eye. The Future Will Be Repeated is a far angrier belch from these veteran New Zealand – a hard squall with all the rawness of live recording but none of the blind grasp of live improvisation. Existing somewhere between melody and noise, we find that indeed we are doomed to repeat our future and call it the past. Rather than heap a bunch of way points into their caterwaul, Eye blast right through it with the speed of a juiced DeLorean with a cattle catcher attached. It rakes up all the influence from historical to allegorical; a metaphor for artists who aren’t bound by modern sounds, only to find themselves heralded as futuristic 20 years later. So is the conundrum with The Future Will Be Repeated because it’s clearly happening in these sets and yet we’ll all default to it as some past act. But we’ll flip through our communal album collections and find no such thing but yet here it exists. And it shall go ignored because of its format and its difficulty. In the future age, it will be unearthed by whatever the replacement for music blogs will be and re-purposed and re-introduced to a crowd that will shower Eye with praise for being so forward-thinking. It’s a self-fulfilling cycle so those of us with keen ears can enjoy it now while the artists go unappreciated and their work is cheap. Begin hording now!

Links: Ba Da Bing



[CS; Misery Loves Company]

I’m shocked more deep-indie bands don’t sound like Mands, corrupted by AIDS Wolf and Pissed Jeans and unleashed upon the world like an incurable virus. It’s almost as if Arab On Radar never existed as it is, and the last Shearing Pinx LP I personally heard came out in 2011, so when a band like Mands knock on my door I snap to attention. 15/6/2014, however, is a cassette I’m going back and forth on a little. As grateful as I was at first to hear the trio of Kaity Zozula, Amy Macdonald, and Tim Keen dredging up such sick post-noise-rock nastiness, I realized at certain spots the vocals were driving me crazy. DON’T FREAK OUT EVERYONE; Mands will be fine, and their live prowess is likely a better environment for their wares. The singer tends to get stuck in a monotonous key at times, particularly when she repeats herself (and of course she’s not the first noise-rocker to go there, not by any stretch). It’s sort of the difference between sitting down and writing solid melodies or just flowin’ off what the rest of the band is doing spontaneously. The latter feels better at the time, but in the long run it might make sense to pick up the pen. Hey I could be wrong, and the mind-numbing brick-slap of the instruments kick up enough dust to render the vocals a moot point. Especially considering how few n-r tapes come in to Gumshoe HQ, I give 15/6/2014 passing marks, if not unequivocal support.

Links: Mands

Cerberus seeks to document the spate of home recorders and backyard labels pressing limited-run LPs, 7-inches, cassettes, and objet d'art with unique packaging and unknown sound. We love everything about the overlooked or unappreciated. If you feel you fit such a category, email us here.