So, I feel like the importance of everything is energy and how we “transfer” it. I’m not talking about a spiritual or ethereal energy, but straight-up energy we exert and its repercussions. For example, my writing energy right now is transferring to your energy’s capacity to comprehend and listen. Furthermore, you’re listening to James West’s music energy because Jennifer Baron transferred her knowledge energy from her husband’s production energy. Now, I’m using the word “energy” loosely, and I realize what I’m saying is a little obvious, but I’m trying to point out more a way of living rather than perception. Not that I’m telling you how to live either, just jesting a way of sharing and being. That being sai -err, written, I love the idea of south and the notion safaris, and I’m going on one right meow via reality ///my mind grapes\\ with “Southern Safari.”
Sean McCann & Matthew Sullivan
As the pilot release from Sean McCann’s new record label, Recital, comes his own collaboration with genre-crossing multi-instrumentalist Matthew Sullivan. Sullivan is also known as the mind-melting (in a relaxing way) ambient artist Earn and is part of groups like the rather mild noise tribute to Michael Jackson 1958-2009 and the mind-melting (in a very painful way) Deep Jew. McCann – as you are likely to know if you are a regular to the site – is a TMT favorite, and has released some of the most breathtaking recordings in the past few years, including one of our absolute favorites from last year The Capital.
The new album, entitled Vanity Fair, is accompanied by a minimal video teaser. Yes, the video does feature something besides the vase of bamboo or whatever it is: halfway through it changes to thrilling flickering lights which continues to the end. The simplicity of the visuals lets your ears focus on in the stunning audio, which starts off as distorted telephone dialogue and calm improvised piano and ends with an emotional whining string ensemble. Several tracks can be heard in full on the label’s website.
• Recital: http://www.recitalprogram.com/
Turn it over. The other side has rotted through your closet floorboards. Almost. You flip it with ease cause it’s only 76 lbs. Re-wrap it with fresh plastic and slide the shad shut. Your face has been leaking since last Sunday, and it wont dry itself. There are clusters of scabs across your neck and hands; still healing. Out of breathe – always now – you practically fall down the stairs (two or three flights), and drag yourself to your spot. Turning the key and wheel to back out, your hands slick across metal and plastic because of the blood. In no time, because you’ve lost track of it, you arrive at the Bluespring Caverns and you pour out of the car. Whether or not your eyes are closed, you make it to a cavern entrance and lay there until falling in, and falling further, and cracking your [something/body] on the floor below. Exhaling saliva and snot is the last thing you hear echoing around you.
As if you didn’t see this coming, Demdike Stare did another round of EPs that turned into a double album. In case you missed “Tryptych,” “Elemental” is just as spooky, and possibly more breathtaking.
Casimer & Casimir
The wicked pulsation of “Retiree’s” opening synth washes over you with the same dazzle and disorientation wrought from the sweet syrupy glugs of an old box of refrigerated wine, similar to the one that’s zozzled our narrating singer into such a melodically ponderous state. But soon, those beats affect a sublime sway, a sort of waltzy slow-dance on the beach where the frothy tides of prog-rock glitter and funk-flaring indie-dance-pop barnacles are splashed together onto the toes of this Uncle-Nephew duo, Casimer & Casimir. Synth strings saw and soar like shooting stars and the b-section settles down for what feels like champagne bubbles into your ear drums. All this, plus the stop-you-in-your-tracks splendor of our vocalist’s wispy timbre (you’ll recall our ascot-ed, gossamer-toned crooner, monsieur Casimer, from the now-three-year’s-gone baroque-baring champions of intricate/imaginative pop –Pas/Cal, as he sings of coming to a strange new creative sobriety in the sips of bad, bad wine, over the cresting fuzz furls of his nephew, Vincent Casimir).
Casimer & Casimir started up about six months ago and plan to release a song (or two) in spurts, here and there. So, after you stream this splendid ditty, make sure to check back.
• Casimer & Casimir: http://casimercasimir.bandcamp.com
Dope Body’s coming, yo!
The press release for the band discourages us from “[comparing] their ferocity to another contender.” Why not? Because when something’s good enough, you don’t need to make comparisons to prove it. So, if you like your punk measured out in raw slabs, if you prefer your squeals scalding, it won’t take an argument or a catalogue of influences to get you on Dope Body’s side. Besides, in this reporter’s meek library, there are some clear precursors to Dope Body, but really nothing quite the same — no contenders, if you will, in the same weight class. Or at least of the same species.
Dope Body are from Baltimore, a city whose rage they seem to have fed right into their mainline. While the big thumping smacks on “Lazy Slave” would likely devolve into a generic hair-flaunting fetish in the hands of less-controlled psychos, these guys keep it interesting throughout. While sampling genres where cliché and mimesis rule, Dope Body mange to innovate atop the very musical vocabulary that makes this kind of stuff so quickly boring for so many listeners. While many bands appear to operate under the false logic that decibels equal distinction, Dope Body prove that sometimes it actually can be true. I’m very, very excited to hear the album in full.
Natural History comes from Drag City on May 22.