How the fuck does The Nativist’s “White Liver” have less than 100 plays? Correction: How the fuck does The Nativist’s “White Liver” exist? This sorta jungle-atmospheric dub isn’t supposed to exist until 2087, when Tokyo goes complete club, and office atmosphere begin using strobe and neon lights as a standard in the work-place environment. Like, and it feels like running from the tallest man alive, after having seen him only sitting prior to the chase (Side Note: don’t ever let The Nativist photos confuse you, because that dude is TALL… and a hugger <3).
Sometimes on Twitter and shit, The Nativist will post pictures of his software programming, and it’s completely 2087-level. “White Liver” is complete underground, core-of-the-Earth stability. Fortified in a mirage of sounds, The Nativist relentlessly pounds a heap of beats into listeners’ psyches, expanding nodes and minds that’ll only further this sound of production. And if you’re one for them SUMMER JAM lists, y’all better add “White Liver” on there. It seriously goes so fast, you don’t even know how you danced that fast. Like, it’s something for y’all repeat ONE listeners. So give it a digi-spin below, and get MOVING:
• The Nativist: https://soundcloud.com/the-nativist
Speaker Footage is a brand new label from Denmark, one of the four countries where all “new” things seem to originate from. In the spirit of cold weather, colder typography, and a healthy respect for modern European deconstructionism, they released a coolly experimental compilation featuring Micromelancolié, Fischerlie, Head Dress, and Germany Army.
The compilation seems concerned with the destructive and rhythmic potential of field sampling. In just two explosive bursts of sound, Dagir Du’s offering “Draagd” contains all the drama of fighting off poorly rendered digital wolves as they attack your ski cabin, or frolicking in a field full of butterflies with razor-blade wings, without the hassle of having to perform these tasks while listening to aggressive trance techno. Dagir Du’s aesthetic seems to come from a
high-art world’s response to vaporwave as a critique of superficial appropriation of corporate culture love and admiration for stuff that sounds pretty. And maybe Myst.
Third and final release on the immaculately noisy Retrograde Tapes recent batch crashes down on Kraken Mare’s Outer Resonance. Each side coming in at just-shy of nine minutes each track, Outer Resonance presents a commentary on vibrated tons. Whether it involves harmonizing key-tones or general wobble effects, Kraken Mare strikes a flux of sound that’s sharp and minor, drawl and completely active, free and controlled. And the patients it must’ve taken to have refined each noise, layered upon ambiance and sounds, transitions through smelting lakes and thick drips, Outer Resonance will reveal it’s title to listeners.
As a side-note, I actually interviewed Kraken Mare for an old zine I ran called LINDA, and as the musician also manages Retrograde Tapes, it was admitted that the cover art for Outer Resonance was found one day in an old barn while the sound purveyor was dosed out on acid. Nice lil tid-bit. Starting Side-B right now and this Outer Resonance is LIT. Composed. Can you handle Kraken Mare’s terror below?
Having explored aural terrain closer to Earth as half of the drone/doom duo Barn Owl, Evan Caminiti has been gradually pruning back the humanoid elements of his craft to sketch out a vision of solo electronic performance — weighted thick with whirring synth figures, cavernous percussion, and peals of static noise. The multi-instrumentalist has previously sculpted sessions from strategies like Fripp-core guitar layering (see the radiant Dreamless Sleep), and dub-influenced delay manipulation (see Barn Owl’s latest, V), both of which factor into his newest solo paradigm to some degree. While we hear no overtly recognizable guitar tones in tracks like “Arc,” from his new album Meridian, the recurring pads and echoed tubular bell voices that fold onto themselves in the haze of his claustrophobic mix transmute the density and chordal complexity of a six-string performance into abstract formations that betray little trace of hands-on-something input. Liberated from the conventions of genre or instrumentation, Caminiti’s mind races through a darkened expanse flecked with markers of alien geometry and post-Brutalist architecture — and we tread a few paces behind him, watching figures emerge from nothingness. Montreal-based artist Sabrina Ratté contributes a stream of surreal visual synthesis to accompany “Arc,” which pulses in loose concordance with the track’s peaks of activity. Ratté smears matrices and grainy textures over central figures that phase and mutate before our eyes, alternately decaying into absence or surging up into flashes of day-glo brilliance. Her feed contains too many details to glean in one sitting, as her strata of colors and shapes compound into increasingly intricate permutations.
• Evan Caminiti: http://www.thrilljockey.com/thrill/Evan-Caminiti/#.VZ175_lViko
• Thrill Jockey: http://www.thrilljockey.com/splash.html
Vampillia + The body
Remember when The body was just two of the dudes from Duck Dynasty with M-15’s and songs about bloodletting in the Appalachian wilderness? It was simple, brutal: the product of two madmen cooped up in a cabin. As The body began to embrace the wider world of experimental metal (and everything Portland has to offer), delivering progressively more punishing bodies of work, they also collaborated more. Their signature cacophony molds seamlessly with whoever they’re working with, be it Thou or The Haxan Cloak.
Vampillia is another group that brews a similar blend of auditory Agent Orange, albeit with a slightly longer shopping list at Guitar Center. The 10-member “brutal orchestra” has a collaborative record to rival The Body’s own, including works with Lustmord, Mu-siq, and Nadja. On “chikatilo,” the first widely available track from their collaborative release xoroAHbin (which doesn’t seem to be available anywhere except torrent sites), the collaborative dynamic is sways towards Vampillia’s scattered electronics, and Chip’s vocals are buried under smoke. It’s always fascinating to see how two wildly disparate acts account for their stylistic differences on record, and this song punishes in the all the right areas of my tortured psyche.