Daily Postings
music : interview

Helen Money & Jan St. Werner

"Once a sound is released it's out there, and you can't do anything more with it, but I have this weird obsession with continuously shaping it somehow."

I've spent a few months listening to Jan St. Werner's most recent album, Felder, which is a beautiful record and also a concept album. This is very hard to pull off as a composer. He's writing music that is quite heady, but at the same time inviting, even moving—which is even harder to do. 

Having just completed my new record, Become Zero, it was great to connect with another musician who was not only comfortable discussing the process involved in creating, but  someone just as excited as myself by the visceral aspects of our art—playing, creating, and listening to sound. 

—Alison Chesley, aka Helen Money

Helen Money There are some artists who want an audience to come to them, and others who reach out—and all shades between, I'm sure. As an artist and performer, what is your relationship to the audience?

Jan St. Werner My work is, in a weird way, a combinatorial game or system. It's turning and there are different levels of orbit. Sometimes things really line up, and I feel everything is perfectly aligned and of one thought. But then sometimes it really feels scattered—almost total chaos.

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music : portfolio

Field Recording

by Zaïmph

The piece develops as a process of observed phenomena. To start, I make some marks, improvise. Forms exist outside my direction. Black shadows, deep cracks. I document, combine, distort. Composition is created through points, parallels drawn into a relational map. Meditation on a snapshot of the everyday. A motif, a theme emerges. The city as a gateway to the subconscious.

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music : interview

Peaches

by Zachary Small

"I grew up having to sing along to very patriarchal, male, straight viewpoints—lyrics that had nothing to do with me."

Disruption is defined by radical change, a condition of forced reappraisal from outside the status quo. Deceptively catchy, with a strong dance beat cloaking explicit lyrics, the music of Peaches is a burlesque of disruption, a constant provocation to rethink the misogyny that underscores much of electronic music. Listen to her songs and you will end up singing along with tracks such as "Vaginoplasty," "Rock The Shocker," and "Two Guys (For Every Girl)." As a performance artist, Peaches knows not to take herself so seriously, deploying humor to ease in her message of sex positivity and gender fluidity.

Across six albums, Peaches has become a role model for a new generation of feminist artists who sing about female pleasure and power. But Peaches remains a major force in the music industry, and 2016 seems to be the year the mainstream is finally catching up with her. Recently, her song "Boys Wanna Be Her" became the theme song of the popular comedy-news show Full Frontal with Samantha Bee, and she also appeared in an episode of Transparent. This June, Peaches released Rub Remixed, a collection of remixes from her latest album.

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music : interview

Senyawa

by David Novak

"I want it like this, just how it sounds."

Indonesian experimental duo Senyawa creates some of the most exciting experimental music anywhere on the planet, pairing the extreme vocal techniques of Rully Shabara with the intense virtuosity of Wukir Suryardi on his unique instrument and namesake, the bambu wukir [bamboo spear]. While Shabara originally hails from the island of Sulawesi and Wukir from Malang in East Java, the group formed in the cultural and artistic center of Jogjakarta, where the two fused hardcore metal, traditional folk culture, and free improvisation into a powerful sound that somehow echoes (and distorts) the gritty populist spectacle of Javanese village ritual, the confrontational intensity of punk, and the edginess of avant-garde performance. The exploratory, challenging energy of Senyawa bursts off the screen in videos of their live appearances, including itinerant director Vincent Moon’s Calling the New Gods, which captures the duo roaming the streets of Jogjakarta for impromptu guerrilla performances around the city.

Since their formation six years ago, Senyawa has emerged in various global experimental music networks, with appearances in Australia, Denmark, Holland, Scotland, and Japan, and released several original recordings and collaborations with international artists. I caught up with Rully Shabara at the start of Senyawa’s first tour of the United States in August 2016.

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music : portfolio

Field Recording

by Che Chen

I recorded a wedding just outside of Nouakchott, the capital of Mauritania. I traveled there briefly in the spring of 2013, compelled to go after hearing the compilation, Wallahi le Zein: Wezin, Jakwar and Guitar Boogie from the Islamic Republic of Mauritania. I spent my days getting a crash course in the Moorish modal system and at night would often accompany my teacher, Jeiche Ould Chigaly, or his wife, the phenomenal singer, Noura Mint Seymali, to their gigs, which were always weddings. On this occasion, Jeiche was playing as part of a pickup band assembled by le grande chanteur, Mohamed Ould Hembara. I was taking guitar lessons from Jeiche, but that night he played tidinit—a fretless, banjo-like instrument known by many names in the region (ngoni in Mali and Niger, xalam in Senegal, and so forth).

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music : interview

Jon Gibson

by Britton Powell

Whether you're drawing a straight line or zig-zagging through the history of American Minimalist music, there is one person you're bound meet. Jon Gibson is a New York based composer and performer with an encyclopedic list of collaborators, including Philip Glass, Steve Reich, Arthur Russell, and Terry Riley. Gibson's own work evokes a sense of uncharted exoticism that invites the listener to spin the compass and follow. His phrasing and textures float like smoke in the air—boundless, serpentine, and weightless.

Arriving at Gibson's loft in Tribeca feels like entering the territory of his imagination. Sheet music covered with arpeggios line almost every surface of the house, echoing the rhythmically patterned geometries of Gibson's own visual art. Golden gongs bask in the window's light, Tibetan tapestries drape the walls, and enormous sculptures of dragonflies hang from the ceiling, slowly spinning. Seeing all this, you immediately feel that Gibson's home is a safe haven from the city below.

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music : interview

Vivien Goldman

by Michael Patrick MacDonald

"Dub was my sound because of postcolonial movements. I grew up in it. I bathed in it. I breathed it. So why shouldn't it be mine?"

I first heard the foreboding bass line of Vivien Goldman's "Private Armies" in Boston, 1981. Stereophonic sounds crashed into each other, dissipated, and appeared again, and the bass kept it all together while a British woman's voice alternated between sweet sing-song and militant shouts of resistance. That summer, police were violently clamping down on behalf of the new corporate state in the working-class Caribbean community of Brixton, as well as in striking white mining towns across England. As a kid, listening eagerly with big ears across the pond, "Private Armies" evoked all these images in visceral ways that newspapers could not. And that a woman's voice spoke up to the masculinity of oppression put the images in a focus we were not getting in mainstream reportage.

The lead voice and visionary of the project was a music journalist. Vivien Goldman often wrote in NME and Melody Maker about London's "sound systems" and the links happening between white punks and rastas at all-night Blue Parties. Coming from Boston's poor and working class white ghetto where any interaction with nearby poor and working-class black neighborhoods seemed unimaginable, such "crossing over" lit me. A glimpse into this faraway world sparked my own fantasies of class-conscious and cross-cultural intersections.

Thirty-five years after those angry teenage days of alienation, I called my now good friend and ally for a conversation about the new collection of her music—Resolutionary (Songs 1979-1982) (Staubgold Records), covering solo songs as well as her work with The Flying Lizards and Chantage—from that explosive and brilliantly creative period.

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music : interview

Michael Morley & Alan Licht

"Oh no, this is sounding too beautiful, too seamless, and too much like it was planned. I have to unravel it."

Last December I spotted a surprising new release by Michael Morley, Moonrise—surprising because it wasn't credited to his usual solo alias of Gate, but also because of Michael's description of the contents: "After thirty years of playing the acoustic guitar in private for no good reason, I decided to record the activity." Just a month earlier, my own first-ever acoustic guitar album, Currents, had come out, which also documented a practice not previously shared with the public.

Both of us are known as noisy electric guitarists: Michael as a member of the long-running New Zealand underground rock trio The Dead C, and myself in various experimental and indie rock settings. We've been acquainted since the early '90s via his Dead C bandmate Bruce Russell, who released one of my previous solo albums on his Corpus Hermeticum label, and Lee Ranaldo, with whom we've both collaborated. I was intrigued that we had each "unplugged," and wanted to talk to Michael about our respective routes to acoustic music. As it happened, a Gate “disco” album, semi-ironically titled Saturday Night Fever, followed just after Moonrise. Given my own 2001 deconstruction of Donna Summer's "Dim All The Lights," this too seemed to merit further discussion.

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music : interview

Ohal

by Jesse Ruddock

"It's like bouncing ideas back and forth with a friend, but the friend is you."

Ohal is a Brooklyn-based pianist, composer, and recording engineer for whom music is rule of the bone. Born and raised in Ashkelon, Israel, an ancient seaport town tucked into sand dunes on the Mediterranean coast, she was introduced to the piano as a child and rigorously trained in classical performance. At seventeen, prompted by a runaway affection for the French Surrealists, she left Israel for France, determined to practice new and non-traditional forms of music. Onward to Paris with no plan, she carried only a knapsack and a shrimpy MT-205 Casiotone keyboard.

After a decade of collaborations with pop bands and visual artists, Ohal has just released her first two solo projects: Cancelled Faces, her Berlinale-acclaimed score to Lior Shamriz's film noir of the same title, and Acid Park, an eight-movement electronic suite. Ohal's sound palette is partly handmade on her own synthesizers and theremins, and it brims with sounds ranging from basement experiments to the Baroque. Her melodies beguile and uplift, like puzzles that don't want solving, revealing themselves most fully through a cyclical listening experience. This experience had me, with my headphones on, hard-caught and missing subway stops.

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music : interview

Terry Allen

by Clinton Krute

“Making music work to the lyric, and making the lyric work to the note.”

Artist and singer-songwriter Terry Allen’s haunting 1975 album, Juarez, is a gothic story of the American Southwest—and not totally unlike something out of Cormac McCarthy or the early Westerns of Monte Hellman (who included an Allen song in his classic Two-Lane Blacktop). Comparisons to novels and films seem natural, as the album builds a coherent and complex narrative, with Allen’s rollicking piano and spare arrangements underpinning an elliptical tale of violence, sex, and “writing on rocks across the USA.” Juarez tells us of the murder of a sailor and his new bride, a Mexican prostitute, by the “pachuco” Jabo and his companion, an artist/witch/“rock-writer” named Chic Blundie, in the southwestern Colorado town of Cortez. Not quite country and not quite rock, the music of Juarez is as unique as the man himself. Allen’s voice is incredible; he shifts from mellow Texas drawl—a more nasal Randy Newman—to bloodcurdling intensity from line to line. Against the darkness of the material, Allen’s singing and songcraft manage to convey humor and warmth, elevating the story and music out of the realm of pulp.

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music : interview

Yoshi Wada

by Tashi Wada

“I was doing some plumbing work for a living and picked up a piece of pipe, blew into it, and it created a very good sound. So, I began building instruments.”

My father Yoshi Wada and I have been playing music together for the past six or seven years. It’s been exciting, challenging, and life-changing. The nature of our work varies—sometimes it’s clearly his, even historical in a certain sense, and sometimes it’s quite collaborative. We often joke that this is a family business, but there’s no money. While it may seem a little strange to interview your own parent, it’s also oddly intuitive because you know what and how to ask. I felt it would be interesting to dig into my dad’s process as an artist and musician, and try to avoid rehashing too much biographical information. To do this, I focused on his 1985 record Off The Wall, recently reissued via my imprint, Saltern.

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music : interview

Tashi Dorji & Shane Parish

“I don’t have a specific idiom that I’m aspiring to, and I’m not creating some sort of homage or giving a reference point for people to hang onto. I’m just playing whatever’s in my head, literally.”

Tashi Dorji and I share a mutual passion for the guitar as a vehicle for spontaneous creative expression. Although I’m originally from Miami and he is from Bhutan, we managed to converge in the Appalachian town of Asheville, North Carolina at the beginning of the twenty-first century, where we both still reside. Our new album, Expecting (MIE Music), is a collection of acoustic duo improvisations played on nylon strings, which we happened to record as we were both preparing to become fathers. This conversation reflects on the history of our friendship and music, following many a digression, as any improvisation is prone to do.

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music : interview

Lightstorm

by Jason Gillis

“The quest was always on. Inside, never out.”

I first discovered Lightstorm about five years ago, via the 1982 movie Boardinghouse, which enjoys well-deserved cult status as one of the strangest horror movies ever made, and happens to be the first feature-length film ever recorded on video and transferred to 35mm for a theatrical run. On that initial viewing there was something about the film’s spirit and texture that resonated with me. I’m not sure if it was the balls-to-the-wall yet playful DIY approach, the strange suggestive New Age subtexts, or both. It was immediately clear that there was a lot more to the film than the average horror fan would ever notice or want to know.

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music : review

Trees, Grass, & Collectivist Rock

by Clinton Krute

Träd, Gräs och Stenar and the democratizing power of the riff.

The Swedish heavy psych band Träd, Gräs och Stenar were clearly not in it for the money. They grew their own food, built their own guitars and amplifiers, and between 1969 and 1972, released four of their own records—two studio and two live. Although the early studio albums have some pretty incredible moments—in particular the shaggy, mammoth, 23-minute title track of 1971’s Rock För Kropp Och Själ (Rock for Body and Soul), which cuts off just as it turns into a proto-punk chant—they were really a band best appreciated live. Anthology Recordings’ new reissues, packaged together as a deluxe 6-LP box set, include the two live albums, Mors Mors and Djungelns Lag, along with an album of unreleased live recordings called Kom Tillsammens, discovered in the home of guitarist Jakob Sjöholmm. These records are documents of a countercultural approach to art-making, as well as monuments of trance rock, of subtle motion inside stillness, where their commitment to chasing a single riff can often overshadow any overt political agenda.

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music : interview

The Necks

by Clare Cooper

“There has to be a social music.”

For three of the four decades they’ve been musicians, Chris Abrahams, Tony Buck, and Lloyd Swanton have played together as The Necks. They return to play Australia each summer, and hearing these annual live performances has become a way of marking time on a long, slow clock. Indeed, their international routine seems to mimic their tacit musical agreements—cycles, simplicity, and patience. I’ve had the incredible pleasure of hearing thirty-two of their improvisations live.

My hippie allergy flared up when I went to my first Necks gig at The Basement [Sydney] in 2002; I saw audience members peacefully standing there, swaying ever so gently with eyes closed in preparation for the concert thirty minutes before they even started. I spent a good half hour of the concert holding on to my scepticism, and then: Bam. That thing happened, I let it in, and it’s moved me deeply ever since.
 
I’ve been friends with Chris, Lloyd, and Tony since we met through the NOW now festival of improvised music that I was organising about fifteen years ago. Chris and Tony both play in my Hammeriver project (a band exploring the music of the late Alice Coltrane), and Chris and I have a DX7 synthesiser and guzheng zither duo called Germ Studies. I’ve never played music with Lloyd. I’ve always thought of him as the straight-line staple jazz ingredient of the trio—the bread (and maybe the butter) that makes more cautious listeners feel like everything is going to be okay in the end. Things will resolve. But at the concert tonight, it was Lloyd’s timing and textures that rattled me like a Keiji Haino shriek. That’ll teach me.

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music : interview

Josephine Foster

by Gary Canino

“It’s not a very academic approach, it’s just a part of what I like to do.”

Beyond the simple pleasure of an acoustic guitar, a voice, and the mingling spirit of the two, listening to Josephine Foster really gets at something specific. To these ears, the era her music recalls the most is that of post-war Europe in the mid-twentieth century: delicate folk music created just before the decade of lounge singers and the popularization of the electric guitar. The ambience of this album might also conjure up Angelica Huston slowly descending the staircase as “The Lass of Aughrim” solemnly plays in The Dead, the 1987 film adaptation of a story by James Joyce. But all reverie aside, Foster’s voice is sonorous, and—after just a single listen—I’m grateful this record exists.

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music : interview

Tortoise

by Jason LaFerrera

“Trying to describe it to somebody, like the concept, succinctly, is difficult… and always has been.”

Tortoise, a powerhouse of multi-instrumentalists celebrating their twenty-fifth year as a band, have just released a new full-length studio album—their first in nearly seven years. The Catastrophist is a blend of all the styles they have toyed with over their career, collaborations, and side projects: there’s post-rock, jazz, electronica, dub, and minimalism. Here, their maturity really shows through; sonic wanderings are tightened into songs, and all while that same core of experimental rock permeates everything, even as the synths blurt and percussion overtakes melody, melting into a wall of texture and sound. This new sort of cohesion suits Tortoise well, and the comparative brevity of the songs on this album might broaden their appeal beyond any one experimental niche.

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music : interview

John Corbett

by Andrew Lampert

“The records I don’t listen to are as important as the ones I do.”

I signed on as a John Corbett admirer for life around twenty years ago after burning through his crucial compendium of essays titled Extended Play: Sounding Off from John Cage to Dr. Funkenstein. At the time—and even now, albeit to a lesser degree—there were so few books dealing with free, improvised, and experimental music that this collection became an instant classic for its deep insight and astute analysis of some of the most supposedly difficult music around. An invaluable critic, long-time teacher at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and co-proprietor of art gallery/publisher/record label Corbett vs. Dempsey, the man definitely knows how to keep busy. Our conversation occurred shortly after the late 2015 release of his essential new anthology Microgoove: Forays Into Other Music (Duke University Press). This new book is a must for fans of out music. For those who don’t know how or where to start, his forthcoming volume A Listener’s Guide to Free Improvisation (available this February) will be a perfect point of departure.

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music : interview

Willie Thrasher

by Gary Canino

“I’m the kind of guy that’s trying to get people to work together and make the Earth green.”

At the forefront of the last year’s wondrous Light in the Attic compilation Native North America (Vol 1): Aboriginal Folk, Rock, and Country 1966-1985 is Willie Thrasher’s “Spirit Child.” Thrasher combines classic rock, folk, and the Inuit chanting of his heritage with a fierce intensity, asking a fatally compelling question along the way: “Spirit child, can I go with you?” The effect is unmistakably emblematic of a phantom rock ’n’ roll spirit that must have always been here, just as shaking as Creedence Clearwater Revival’s appropriation of the American swamp, and just as bewildering as the first time you hear Mick Jagger’s drawl on “Dead Flowers”—but keep in mind this is east of Alaska in the early 1980s.

Thrasher, born in Aklavik, the Inuvik region of the Northwest Territories, began his career playing drums in a rock ’n’ roll outfit called the Cordells, who quickly won over the town with their lively set of cover songs that got everyone dancing. Following the dissolution of the group, Thrasher endured a minimization of his Inuit culture while attending Canada’s Residential School System. Following years of loneliness in Ottawa, it came time to record solo music of his own, songs that could finally reflect his Inuit heritage. An apocryphal tale details an old Inuit man questioning Thrasher after a gig why his music didn’t more accurately represent his culture. Initially distributed by CBC Northern Broadcasting in 1981, his album Spirit Child has the sort of outsider feel of fellow Canadian Skip Spence’s masterwork, Oar, but multiplied by the rawness of CCR’s Cosmo’s Factory. “Wolves Don’t Live By the Rules” and “Forefathers” are classic rock in an alternate timeline, ultimately reflecting the sprawling and aching sadness of a subjugated Native America. The stark beauty of this record is clearly enduring given its attention this year, and I was lucky enough to speak with Thrasher himself.

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music : interview

Hieroglyphic Being

by Kevin Beasley

“Somebody takes an idea, then pushes it further. It elevates everybody.”

Jamal Moss and I met a little over a year ago in Vancouver, where we were both performing in the 14th New Forms Festival. This was the first festival I had participated in, given that my work is often realized within the museum and gallery context, but for a seasoned veteran like Jamal this was his playground and point of connection to the world. Since then we have sporadically kept in touch, reconnecting at a gig I helped organize in New York in the spring of 2015—and not even realizing that he was working intensely on the colossal album We Are Not The First, recently released under his Hieroglyphic Being moniker by RVNG Intl.

Not only does Moss continue to create densely layered sonic landscapes that push music composition to its edge, his wealth of knowledge about music pioneers and under-recognized philosophies about life, the cosmos, culture, and the music industry fuel his journey through the world as a cultural surveyor. As a DJ and producer since the early ’90s, Moss’s acumen on politics, social dynamics, and economic structures is channeled through his music and guided by his experience as both an “urban refugee”—a term Moss uses to describe his living situation in the Resident Advisor/SONOS Origins series video—and an academic with a focus in cultural anthropology and ethnographic film. He is constantly traversing the corners of a spiritual universe where the effect of these spaces is given form in his deep catalog of recordings and productions.

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music : interview

Áine O’Dwyer

by Keith Connolly

“As to the church organ itself, it seemed almost like a sample machine, like it could tap into sounds from different eras.”

Áine O’Dwyer is an Irish musician based in London whose recent double album of improvised organ music, Music for Church Cleaners vol. I & II, is a modern minimalist magnum opus of the highest order. With a background that combines Irish traditional music and contemporary performance, she has created a multi-layered, exploratory, and experiential work that begs questions of historicism and the social proximities of the everyday, as well as the presumed nature of records themselves. An erstwhile member of Irish free-folk band United Bible Studies, Áine recently travelled from London on her own (as she prefers) to perform a solo organ concert at the First Unitarian Congregational Society in downtown Brooklyn, courtesy of Issue Project Room. We met a few times during her stay in New York to discuss her work, touching on topics like Saturnalia and failed doomsday prophesies, punctuated along our way by Himalayan food and pay-what-you-wish spaghetti and beer.

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music : interview

Masaki Batoh

by Ben Chasny

“I still seek for eternity, which maybe is like a rainbow-colored butterfly flying away, suddenly in front of your face.”

Masaki Batoh currently leads The Silence, an unclassifiable band that blends folk, prog, drone, and heavy psych into a beautiful swarm. Batoh is probably most famous for leading the band Ghost (the original one, not the current metal one) for about thirty years until they recently broke up. Ghost was a band that had an immeasurable influence on my own music, particularly when I was recording the first Six Organs of Admittance records in the late twentieth century. I was lucky to be able to tour across North America with Ghost in 2005. Every night, Batoh and his band—including guitar wizard Michio Kurihara—would slay audiences left and right. Through touring, Batoh and I became friends. He is serious yet funny, always gives me great musical advice, and often shows a level of sensitivity to the people and things around him that I find inspiring. In this interview, his answers give some hint as to how this sensitivity runs through all the parts of his life.

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music : interview

Doug Hream Blunt

by Gary Canino

“When it came to music, I always saw myself playing a punching bag. That’s just what I do on the guitar.”

The intrigue behind the music of the mysterious Doug Hream Blunt is completely understandable after just one listen to his signature song, “Gentle Persuasion.” It’s music that completely escapes precise definition: both groovy and stiff, soulful and robotic, nimble and lumbering. It can be difficult to discern what era certain music is from just by listening to it, but “Gentle Persuasion” is downright impossible. It seems deeply embedded in the 1980s, like Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me,” but seduction has replaced paranoia. Add Blunt’s beautifully amateur vocal delivery and a two-minute guitar solo that sounds almost like a malfunctioning MIDI flute, and it’s timeless. It’s an off-kilter jam you can’t quite get out of your system once you hear it. After the almost seven minutes of “Gentle Persuasion” groove by, the listener is left with a lot of questions. Is this the sound of a real band playing, or a loop (or both)? When is this from? Why is he trying to “persuade ya to do the ninety-nine,” and what does that mean? And who the hell is this guy?

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music : interview

Cold Beat

by Gary Canino

“A big part of music for me has always been advocacy, and about having a space where people who feel marginalized by society can do things together.”

Singer and bassist Hannah Lew describes her band as being on “Planet Cold Beat in the San Francisco Galaxy,” which is pretty apt. Cold Beat, like a closed system in classical mechanics, doesn’t exchange matter with its surroundings, and their newest LP, Into the Air, is a distinctly isolated affair—with keyboards and drum machines opposing the dominant guitar-rock scene of San Francisco. It’s a disarming feeling to spend time on this planet: give it a chance and maybe your respiratory system will adjust to the whiplash pace of “Cracks,” which sets one of Lew’s trademark icy melodies against bleak synth oscillations that could erode Fisherman’s Wharf and send tourists on their rusty rented bicycles into the water. The same goes for “Spirals,” which sounds as if Kraftwerk, unsatisfied with Dusseldorf, sailed off to the New World. The final track, “Ashes,” bionically glides along to a grim conclusion, leaving us hanging in its aftermath. Into the Air is another fully realized effort from Cold Beat, a chilling open-ended reflection on the impending Singularity of the modern age.

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music : interview

Max Richter

by Tobias Carroll

“Everyone comes together, then they just go to sleep. It’s an anti-rave.”

As a musician and composer, Max Richter’s work has long been in the spotlight on both sides of the Atlantic. His first solo work, Memoryhouse, was released in 2002 (with a subsequent vinyl reissue in 2014). Since then, he has composed music for ballet and released a number of other albums—including a re-composition of Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” and The Blue Notebooks, which features Tilda Swinton reading from the works of Franz Kafka and Czesław Miłosz during the interludes.

His most recent work is Sleep, an eight-hour piece designed to be listened to while unconsciousness. The full-length was released by Deutsche Grammophon in September, simultaneously with a shorter, one-hour companion piece titled From Sleep.

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