Simara x y a s h a
“hologram summer (album preview)”
Avoiding references to middle school horror films, Simara is a New York producer you should be bumping. His music is oblique and hypnotic, though soothing and reassuring. It’s like walking through a hall of broken mirrors with flowers jutting out of every corner. Warm haze, fleeting eye contact with the unsure. Perusing his SoundCloud page, like any other consumer of music on the internet, will deduce an unavoidable connection to a similarly cryptic, technically avant producer, y a s h a. The two have intertwined and are prepping a collaborative release, Hologram Summer. A three-minute preview mix gives an incredibly enticing look at what’s to come. It’s jumbled and beautiful, drawing from a huge realm of influences to emit an overwhelmingly unique result. Space and time are almost tearing at the seams, emitting a warm glow through the crack. Immanuel Kant rolls over in his grave.
Hologram Summer is out on digital and limited cassette June 1. Stream the “hologram summer (album preview)” below:
Here I am outside on my patio furniture, thinking about how I really dug the weather today, setting aside time for old Fantasie Fred and his new 420 Fantasie, and just rippin’ through Sunday’s leftovers, you feel me? Breeze is nice and sounds are at MAX chill. Bodega bought headphones vibrating more than providing sound, but I’m right there with the beat, so nodding is… WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? Instantly, I hear growling a backyard away, it’s from multiple animals, and 420 Fantasie just turned into the soundtrack of a gnarly Monday post-420 stoner/monster filck. The people beside me look out their window in the yard, their faces go from inquisitive to mortified, and shut their blinds. A dry gulp later, you can bet I’m back inside, and on the porch I hear stuff being knocking around.
Anyways, within the safety of things, 420 Fantasie dabbles in some super trippy mixing. With careful-not-so-careful transitioning, it doesn’t matter if you jamming or warping them Twilight Zone vibes, Fantasie Fred is taking you on a journey of blissful mayhem. And what better way for me to post about 420 Fantasie, as it was (brilliantly/typically) released a day after 4-20. Shoot, maybe it was Fantasie Fred in the yard, and faintly hearing his made him get noisy, and excited, and a little lizardy(?). To be honest, all I know about Fantasie Fred is I should “Call him on his telephone.” DUH, right? But I hope you stanked out pre-work today. ‘Cause that 420 Fantasie gonna sneak up on you. Ride the stream below:
UPDATE: this morning it appears whatever was downstairs was in my trash-all-over-the-yard, thanks!
• Screaming Claws: http://www.screamingcla.ws
GUNKTV Volume 1
check it out, its my best work I have ever done it my life, it def was put this together, and it was only available on VHS and 20 were made but not its on youtube for first time ever with fixed audio! check it out!”
– Zak Mering
Sometimes, when the ol’ WWW isn’t accelerating forward at an impossible pace, it can still manage to reflect aspects of offline life. Take this mysterious video GUNKTV Volume 1 for example. Receiving the e-mail about this one was like buying an unmarked home video from Goodwill. “Hmm. What’s this all about?” Sometimes you take the swing and miss. And sometimes you strike such gold that after two hours of watching frantic VHS cuts (finally re-“streamed” via YouTube, in this case) directly into your psyche, you snap back to reality, lift your jaw back into place, and thank the WWW Gods that Youtube allows retro-genius like this a wider distribution than the original edition of 20 VHS tapes which ended up who-knows-where.
Each of the video’s 107 minutes is so absurdly Chocolate Grinder that I… I can’t even…
• GUNK TV RECORDS: http://gunktvrecords.blogspot.com
Sex With Glass
Is it true that if you have posttraumatic stress disorder you can’t diagnosis it yourself? Or like, when crazy people admit their insanity so they can begin healing… you can’t diagnose yourself with PTSD alone. Although, it’s rarer to have PTSD if you’re alone. Maybe it’s based on perception of reality, like. Like, when you’re alone for most your life, and never knew your were colorblind until someone told you. Thus, I imagine this is Dreamcolour’s intention for every release they drop, and Sex With Glass is a shard in the main vein, for sure.
You know what NEVER has happened, maybe? Rob Magill sitting down with the team before a jam and talking it out. Or, possibly only organizing times when to break and jam, etc. But I imagine it’s all straight impromptu style sound slanging. As well, Sex With Glass is like the ultimate superpower. In today’s age, isn’t it MORE likely to be a super hero for good or evil? What if there were a group just having Sex With Glass? Doesn’t have to mean sharp glass either. But the super power would be totally neutral, not helping or hurting anyone, but solely involving the person(s) sexing with it.
Anyhow, get some moods this Tuesday and journey into “Guessing Our Dissension” and “A More Intentional Touch” as Dreamcolour explores Sex With Glass, streaming below:
• Weird Cry: http://weirdcry.bandcamp.com
“Look Behind You”
The roster of NNA Tapes reads like a “Whoa Really?” of the experimental underground, spanning everyone from Pulse Emitter to Oneohtrix Point Never to Jason Lescalleet to Nate Young — but the label’s next release reins in an ensemble of avant-garde heavyweights that tend to orbit a few strata above the underground tape circuit: Ches Smith (ace drummer in Marc Ribot’s Ceramic Dog and Secret Chiefs 3), Travis Laplante (saxophonist for the criminally underrated Little Women), and Trevor Dunn (bassed god of Mr. Bungle, Fantômas, and a number of John Zorn’s outfits [Moonchild, Electric Masada, etc.]). Zoom out a little, and you can consider Trevor Dunn’s presence here in particular as an example of the wide cycle of influence that spurs labels like NNA into existence. The boundary-shattering discography of Mr. Bungle, who signed to Warner Brothers Records in the early nineties, represented an anomalous apex of “mainstream” exposure for mind-warping sounds in that era, searing the band’s twisted, clown-shaped mark onto the minds of thousands of spastic teens (myself included) and an international demographic of out-there musicians (Laplante and Smith, I would imagine, included). Years of omni-genre experimentation later, Dunn constitutes an integral part of the many-tentacled NYC improv/avant-jazz culture that nurtured Laplante’s and Smith’s projects — along with more contemporaneous NNA Tapers like Hubble (Ben Greenberg) and Hex Breaker Quartet.
In today’s medium-conscious musical marketplace, when articles pop up every week championing or decrying (pshhhhh) the continued existence of tapes, Ancestral Instrument cuts out all the posturing and attests to one of the cassette medium’s greatest strengths: documenting side-long sessions of shreddery. The trio approached their collaboration as a blank slate, stripped of any harmonic or structural stipulations, and the results illustrate their telepathic communication from within the “free”-“jazz” void. Onstage with Little Women, Laplante’s sax assault splinters into cacophonous spirals of extended technique blowing in tandem with Darius Jones. On “Look Behind You,” premiering below, Laplante approaches the session from a more textural standpoint, coloring in the open space with tenuous moans, slow breaths, and the occasional squall. Smith plays it real cool, girding the proceedings with a wash of cymbal rushes, hi-hat missives, and snare accents. Dunn, meanwhile, balances his double bass output on the precipice between lead voice and rhythmic backbone, prodding Laplante and Smith into new permutations of ethereal and/or queasy exploration. Near the session’s halfway point (scope the bulbous node on that waveform), the concoction bubbles over the side of the cauldron as the trio locks into a passage of more animated destruction, with Laplante stretching into an atonal solo and Smith octopus-ing around the kit in a rush of polyrhythmic activity.
Ancestral Instrument lands today on NNA Tapes.