Posted in Questionnaire on April 1st, 2024 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Joey Toscano of Iota
—
How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
In order of priority, I live a life and then I write songs about it. Art comes out of living, so I don’t put music above everything else, or try to live by some fixed identity like, “I’m a musician”. I observe my own living and mindstream within this absurd world — experiencing the suffering and the joy just like everyone else — doing my best to fully experience, equally, the mundane and the extraordinary, though I don’t claim to be exceptionally good at that part. And then out of that, at the very bottom of the funnel, there just happens to be a preference for communicating and sharing it via music/sound. It’s all play and pretend.
I’ve come to it in different ways between 10yo, 20yo, and so on. Very recently, I’ve come to do what I’m doing now because a friend asked me to play the leads on a record he wrote. I wasn’t very active at that point, but found motivation in wanting to help a friend realize his musical vision. That in turn lead me to being inspired to finish an album that’d been sitting on the shelf for a few years. Then that lead to inspiration for writing another album. Interconnectivity and an infinite web of new starting
points.
Describe your first musical memory.
Probably about 5 years old, I’d pretend our vacuum cleaner was a microphone—singing along to mom’s Journey and Michael Jackson records. I’d also spend hours just flipping through the records, soaking in the cover art. Lots of CCR, Beatles, Elton John, Neil Young. That’s what I remember being in her collection.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
I’ll go with the first record I ever connected with on a level that had me obsessed with listening to it all day, every day. That moment when you’re a kid and you get your first Walkman. Just completely absorbed in the music and your own emotional world. Pissing off your parents because you can’t hear anything they’re saying. That seems to be where everything has sprung from.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
Great question. I’d say it’s usually when I put my head on the pillow at night. Not every night, but that’s the typical scenario. It’s when the realization hits hardest that something I was clinging to or arguing about so intensely doesn’t really matter at all. All the plans I was making, all the mundane things I thought I wanted to align myself with. All of it just vapor. I used to firmly believe that life is just a straight line, but over the last 10 years or so, I’ve experienced some things that have shaken that belief and I realize now that it’s something much different than that. I have faith that most of our beliefs are bullshit.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
Well, if done with the right intention, I think perhaps enlightenment? Or at least towards a clearer, more positive understanding of one’s perceived self and their place in the world. An understanding of how your chosen craft can be of benefit to others is critical. I like that Japanese term, Shokunin. Such a great concept for artist progression. Whether you’re a mechanic, electrician, chef, writer, accountant or musician. You have a responsibility to master your craft. And in turn, you benefit someone else with that mastery. I could be misinterpreting it, but that’s how I understand it. If you put the mastery of your craft into that perspective, then the ego will eventually dissipate.
How do you define success?
A relative state of being where one has stabilized in genuine peace of mind and happiness, regardless of their situation.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
Seeing my dog get run over.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
I fantasize about doing movie soundtracks, though everyone I know who’s done it tells me it’s usually an excruciating process.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
Essential function is to teach us about ourselves. That doesn’t make the artist the teacher, though. How we perceive art says more about us than it does the creator. If something disgusts us, we should ask ourselves why. Same goes for when something elates us. This is why the same piece of art can have so many different meanings.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
It will sound really boring but I look forward to doing absolutely nothing and being completely content about it
This Friday, Esben Willems will make his solo debut with the full-length Glowing Darkness on Majestic Mountain Records, and I won’t mince words in telling you that for some of the built-in audience who know him only from his output as the drummer of Swedish riff magnates Monolord, it’s going to seem like a pretty stark departure. The path of influence that’s brought Willems to this nine-song, 33-minute long-player is more complex than a simple ‘band wasn’t on tour so I made a record by myself’ narrative one might try to impose on it, and from the insistent weirdo-pop urgency of “Cabaret Street” — as if to jolt one awake at the outset — through the guitar-led bounce of the title-track and the finale “Across the Everything,” which presents a sound that is full and atmospheric while still not tying itself to this or that microgenre, the personality of the procession becomes like a series of experiments brought to fruition in order to actively work against the generic in and around heavy music.
Recording himself on all instruments at Studio Berserk in Gothenburg, where there’s at least a 30 percent chance he also mastered your album, Willems runs through a succession of cuts that seems to owe its core ethic of creative freedom to Talking Heads no less than Masters of Reality, with “Dear Demon” and “Carte Blanche” building on the catchy structure of “Cabaret Street” in a way that allows Glowing Darkness to remain cohesive as it chasing down different ideas. Would it be a shock if I told you it’s well produced?
Those who’ve perhaps followed Willems through his various collaborations in recent years — lest we forget the “here’s some beats have fun” drum patterns he posted during the covid pandemic that led to his ‘guesting’ on releases from all over the world — or who even took on the earlier-this-year self-titled debut from doom-does-Slayer covers project Slower (review here), might be better set up to follow where Glowing Darkness is headed, but one way or the other, the reward is there for the open-minded, and the palpable defiance of expectation brims with purpose. As the standalone layered vocals and last guitar noodle of “Carte Blanche” give over to the more sauntering groove of “Embrace the Fall,” daring a bit of funk in the nuanced pattern of the verse before opening to the rolling chorus, Willems feels strikingly clearheaded in his arrangements and the balance of the mix.
And while mostly traditionalist in verse/chorus structures, the material is all the more able to explore and expand stylistically for that sure footing, but it’s also concise enough that only “Cabaret Street” and “Across the Everything” push beyond a four-minute runtime, the latter serving as the longest inclusion at 5:01. It may be that Willems sat down and plotted out measure by measure, layer by layer, waveform by waveform, the various reaches into which Glowing Darkness delves — I honestly don’t know and I don’t have the track-by-track yet, so maybe we’ll find out together — but whatever the initial spark might have been for the minimalist-Nirvana-meets-cavernous-nod centerpiece “Slow Rain,” the feeling of spontaneity, and of a creative chase, of an artist figuring out in real-time who they are and how they want to bring the songs in their head to life, remains amid the tight and hammered-out spirit of the finished LP.
Tucked away cozily in the procession of side B, “Space Bob” leans percussive intricacy on a fuzzy riff that’s simpler but sturdy enough to support all the activity and finds Willems repeating the lines, “I had to save myself/This head/Caught fire,” as the guitar grows more fervent before receding. It’s three minutes long and doesn’t come anywhere near summarizing Glowing Darkness as a whole — it’s not trying to — but it does capture a specific portrait of creative urgency. Have you ever felt like your head’s on fire? Like there’s something you need to get out, to express, to say or do or share and you’re consumed by that thing until you actually make it happen? I do, often. In that way, “Space Bob” feels like it’s about its own making, the way it’s built up to what Willems wanted it to be or until he was satisfied enough with what it became to say it’s done. Isn’t that what being an artist is like? Your head’s just on fire all the time? Maybe Willems intended the metaphor and maybe not, but the notion of artistic expression being what ‘saves’ you from the fire resonates. Sometimes it’s like that.
What Willems in the track-by-track/interview that follows refers to as “limitations” become quirks in craft and style. The way the vocals are layered and patterned. The stops in the guitar of “Fortune Teller” that bounce while feeling intimate and personal like some lost McCartney-era experiment, or the way “Across the Everything” lets itself submerge in the wash of tone and space before Glowing Darkness ends with drums and voice alone, heavy in tone and presence but still very much its own take. One could hardly ask a more fitting resolution, not the least because it also doesn’t attempt to summarize so much as to keep adding to the breadth of the whole album while staying grounded in structure. That duality becomes crucial throughout.
I’ve been fortunate enough to interview Willems a few times over the last several years, and probably could’ve fired up Zoom to make an ass out of myself for a video chat. But since the album’s streaming in full, you’re not likely to watch a video at the same time you’re listening to the record, and I think there’s something appealing about reading an artist’s view of their work while you listen to the work itself; a multi-sensory immersion. One way or the other, I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.
Glowing Darkness can be heard in its entirety on the player below, followed by the track-by-track:
Glowing Darkness track-by-track with Esben Willems
When did Glowing Darkness start to come together? How far back do these songs go, and at what point did you know you wanted to make an album under your own name as opposed to starting another band?
It’s been lingering for a long time, I wanted to get back to writing and recording music on the side again. I love side-projects and how they fuel the creativity in unexpected ways, I’ve always had the need to create in multiple different directions. The journey we’ve made with Monolord the past decade has been overwhelmingly amazing; the effect of that has also been that between tours, behind the scenes admin work and most important of all family, I haven’t had the time to explore much else. In 2019, we decided to take one season off from touring with the band – simply to recharge – and shortly after that the pandemic hit, so all that combined was the perfect opportunity to play around with these song ideas, some of them probably about 15 years old, I don’t really remember. Misfit, maladjusted little nuggets that didn’t really fit in any other project along the way, but all of them ideas I returned to when rummaging through the digital archives, as one does every now and then.
I figured that if these songs made me smile, there should be at least a handful of people on this planet that are wired the same way I am and would feel the same, so I started reworking them and rewriting most of the lyrics to what felt relevant in my life now. Also, I’ve often preached to people around me that they should embrace their limitations and create regardless of them, instead turning those limitations into creative tools, but I have been really bad at adapting that mindset myself, so I felt that this would be a great way to give myself a Henry Rollins asskicking to get going. So, that’s the reason this is not a new band and it’s also the reason that I’m playing all the instruments and singing all the vocals, warts and all, just to see what I could accomplish with the quite substantial limitations I have outside of the drumkit. And inside of it, for that matter. Incredibly scary, which also fueled the inspiration even further.
What do you most want people who only know you from Monolord to know about these songs? Imagine someone is about to put it on for the first time. What should their mindset be?
That it’s not Monolord, at all. I don’t want to deceive anyone into expecting that this will be a rumble fest in a slightly different direction. I love that and those projects of mine will also be recorded and released, but this one is a ticket to somewhere else. Speaking of describing music, I love how we all perceive music so differently. We can love the same thing, but most likely from entirely different perspectives and we can hate something the same way. I’ve seen this described as some sort of post-punk several times now and that is not even remotely close to what I hear myself. Which is really cool, it’s all been mentioned as a compliment and I’ll take it, regardless of whatever genre this might be considered as.
Let’s go through the tracks. “Cabaret Street”:
I was frustrated about how so much of my surroundings and even my own behaviour revolved around the insatiable search for validation. It might sound like a “social media is bad and I’m afraid of wifi” statement, but I feel that blaming social media only is a bit one-dimensional and lazy, to me this virus culture is equally fueled by how our society is constructed. Social media is just a tumorous result of that, I think. Social media is also an amazing tool, if used right.
If this song is anti- anything, it would be anti-capitalism.
“Dear Demon”
I guess many of us have that head demon that never sleeps, that beast who’s never out of energy to remind you that you’re not good enough, that your desperate attempts to matter are nothing more than embarrassingly transparent and laughable theatrics. This is my love letter to my own demon, just to confuse it. I know it won’t confuse it for long, it will be back with full force tomorrow. But so will I and my coffee is both stronger and real.
“Carte Blanche”
It seems to be a permanent human flaw that we in the bigger picture never – or very rarely – really learn from our mistakes. When a relationship, a job, any human interaction goes wrong we tend to just end it without reflection, replace it with something similar and repeat the process elsewhere with someone else, naively hoping that this utopia will be different. We start things the same way and we end things the same way, rinse and repeat. Denial is an addictive spice.
“Embrace the Fall”
Speaking of denial, the collective version of that in the shape of the silently socially accepted self medication is peak tragicomedy to me. Or rather, the tragicomedy lies in it’s collective denial, not the actual numbing by beers, by I’m-not-addicted-I-can-quit-anytime-there-are-no-side-effects-420brah weed or whatever your preferred sedative might be. Not saying that I don’t embrace the buzz of my gentrified hazy IPA – I really do – I just find some kind of dark humor in that I also participate in that game of pretending.
“Slow Rain”
A deliberately slow one about the process of breaking on the inside, over and over, but still keep functioning on the outside, no matter what. The constant battle between strength and fragility.
“Glowing Darkness”
Even though life can feel bleak and uphill, there are always bright spots in the darkness. They might be small and seemingly insignificant, but they sometimes shines a brighter light than you’d maybe expect.
“Space Bob”
I think and hope this one is self-explanatory. If not, it might be because you didn’t save yourself when your head caught fire. You have to.
“Fortune Teller”
This is to my life companion, what we have is incredible to me. Through all the bumps and twists and turns, we have the best of rides. I love her.
“Across the Everything”
I love playing live and being able to travel the world to do so. But it comes at the expense of deeply missing my loved ones, especially my kid as a parent. Not being there in the flesh is heartbreaking and something I always struggle with when I tour. This is to my son, my promise that I will always come home.
Now that Glowing Darkness is coming out – and releasing it has been in the works for a while, right? – how are you feeling about the release? Are you relieved to have it out in the world (almost), inspired to move forward as a songwriter, tired of the whole idea? What comes next?
It’s indeed been in the works for quite a while, yes, so it feels really good to finally have it out. Also, as with every new release, nervous. I hope that people that are into this kind of music will enjoy it.
I’m always inspired to move forward, to make new music. More projects are already in the works, both solo type stuff and projects with others. Regarding writing music, I’m finally getting back to it, having been away from it for almost a decade. I’m rusty, but I’m having tons of fun in the process.
Anything else you want to say about the record, or anything else generally?
Listen to music, a lot of music, as far and wide in genres and cultures as you can. Don’t limit yourself with predefined taste. Puritanism is boring. Curiosity is not.
Posted in Features on March 26th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
The studio adventures of German heavy psychedelia progenitors Colour Haze are manifold and occasionally more than their share of tragic, but as the band celebrate their 30th anniversary throughout 2024, they’re an essential part of the story. Guitarist and vocalist Stefan Koglek, who is the remaining founding member, has been a part of studio builds and teardowns, recorded in basements and bunkers, and been driven enough toward the band determining their own destiny to end up creating the space itself in which he’d long wished to create. You might recall that around the time of 2012’s She Said (review here), Koglek talked about some of the years’ worth of challenges behind that record alone. As it turns out, that circumstance — while particularly gruesome — was not necessarily an isolated incident.
In addition to a CD sale through his mostly-dormant imprint Elektrohasch Schallplatten and sundry live dates — including SonicBlast Fest in Portugal and Bear Stone in Croatia — that will culminate in an anniversary festival of their own at Feierwerk in Munich this Dec. 28 (further details TBA), Koglek has begun overseeing revisits to past Colour Haze albums at a home studio that, at least for now, he’s willing to call ‘done.’ One might think of the 2021 remix of 2003’s Los Sounds de Krauts (reissue review here) as a precursor to this undertaking, but in terms of the place where the work happens, the already-streaming upcoming 2LP remix and remaster of 2017’s In Her Garden (review here) presents an evolved ideology in its approach to volume, and takes ownership of the material in a way that lets it realize new ideas without actually being all that different.
I’ll just say flat out that if you cherish the original as I do — I hope always to remember dancing with my then-baby daughter to the la-la-las later in “Lotus” — there’s nothing on the 2024 In Her Garden that wants to take that away from you. If the notion of an artist going back over prior output makes you nervous, I understand that. I’m pretty sure there are still folks pissed off Star Wars did a second trilogy at the turn of the century, and I’m not out here to try and belittle or discount anyone’s point of view. Particularly for records toward which one might feel a deep connection, that change can be scary. With the original In Her Garden, Colour Haze united the expanse of the aforementioned She Said with the intentional pushback, go-to-ground organic performance-capture of 2015’s To the Highest Gods We Know (review here), found peace and a place in-between those sides that was memorable unto itself in the listening experience, and cast sun-coated evocations which have continued to resonate in the now-seven years since it came out. Their two-to-date LPs since, 2019/2020’s We Are (review here) and 2022’s Sacred (review here), would not have taken shape as they did without In Her Garden‘s progressive foundation.
Below, you’ll find Koglek detailing the process of going back into the recordings of In Her Garden with a perspective less about volume and more about dynamic. Some pieces have been (partially) rearranged, as with the vocals on “Black Lilly” after the intro “Into Her Garden,” or Jan Faszbender‘s solo in “Lavatera,” but the overarching impression of the music remains serene in its varied movements, and the songs come across with more space, more live energy, and as you can hear in the 11-minute “Islands” and across the span, an underlying tonal crunch that proves well worth highlighting. He calls its sound as “brighter” and “more ‘open,'” and these are assessments with which I can only agree as he, then-bassist Philipp Rasthofer, drummer Manfred Merwald, as well as Faszbender and a host of guest contributors including Mario Oberpucher — who’d take over for Rasthofer on bass in 2021 — present this fresh and refreshing take on the original.
This isn’t an interview, and it’s not an in-studio, but Koglek goes deep in terms of laying out the ideas behind 2024’s In Her Garden and what actually went into making a record that was already so teeming with vitality feel even more alive. Keep your eyes on their website, as they’ll reportedly roll out more background on other albums as the occasion arises. I did some light editing on the text below, but in parallel to the record’s new mix itself, no actual meaning has been changed.
Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy:
Revisiting ‘In Her Garden’ with Stefan Koglek
…In the summer of 2015, my new control room was ready to work. Now I had a luxurious home studio. While I couldn’t foresee the dynamics starting from the choice of a 2” tape machine as a basic recorder, I have to admit I got intrigued by the reemergence of analogue audio gear. A fascinating world I dived into with passion. Would you stick with drawing watercolor on paper just for economic reasons if it’s your dream to make big oil paintings on canvas?
I think the experiences of your life are more precious than any money you could probably save. I wanted to have gear that I really liked, not just what was doing the job. Even if it was just for the reason that you couldn’t blame the gear for making a poor-sounding record.
I was reasonable enough not to buy overpriced classics, instead choosing esoteric stuff with good value for the money. And with an analogue studio you need a lot of stuff.
Also in my new home studio, I was still missing some tools, equalizer channels, etc., to really do everything necessary or that I wanted. It was still not grown up. And though the room was good now, the monitoring still was far from perfect. Though I wasn’t too happy with the performance of my monitor speakers in the room, my attempts to change this didn’t get much going. But it was much better than before, so I tried to get used to it. I couldn’t improve the situation for another five years.
In 2016, we had enough music for a new album but the garage below my control room still wasn’t converted into the recording space it was initially intended to be.
For the ‘In Her Garden’ recordings, we booked a great sounding, huge 1960s studio room in Munich, which was now mainly used as a rehearsal for a symphonic orchestra. We would have brought all our own recording gear. One week before our sessions, the booking was cancelled by the studio owner.
Though I thought it was clear from the beginning we would rent the empty room during the orchestra’s holiday in a lockout deal, he was shocked to find out we wouldn’t just work from nine to five like the orchestra musicians. First he wanted to double the already whopping 800 Euro per-day price for an empty room, then he cancelled the whole deal.
There we stood, holiday already taken. We tried to find a different studio but in the end had to go down again in our rehearsal room. A new place that was formerly a beer cellar for Oktoberfest. It was four floors below ground, 40 sqm, concrete, low ceiling. The lift had just enough room to squeeze in the Telefunken.
We tried to swiftly treat the room acoustically with what was around, and just as everything was set up and ready for soundcheck, the tape machine stopped working. It turned out that a huge surge hit the poor electric system of the building while we were setting up mics (maybe from a crane being shut off from the build of the nearby Oktoberfest).
The Logic-platines of the tape machine were destroyed – and so was the lift. The latter never got repaired again, and in the end we had to carry the 250 kg Telefunken in pieces up four floors on small stairs. We spent the week that was meant for recording on fixing the recorder. But we got ‘In Her Garden’ in the end, despite the difficult circumstance. And the recordings sounded better than what we got from the previous place.
The Remixes:
In 2020, I had to change to a different press for LPs. For some years, the company I was working with since founding Elektrohasch had trouble with quality and when they raised prices three times within two weeks in the 2020 vinyl rush, it was time to go.
The pressing-tools were mine, since I always had my vinyls cut at a different cutting studio. I expected they could simply be sent to the new factory and I could work there. But surprise: most tools arrived damaged at Optimal Media. A part of the stock of work we’d built up over 20 years was gone overnight. I had to deliver new cuts. That meant I had to deliver the master recordings again.
Sometimes this was impossible.
For ‘Los Sounds de Krauts,’ the original digital masters were in poor 16bit 44.1 kHz on CD-R – you wouldn’t use a 15-year-old CD-R as a master! I also thought the mixes could be improved with hindsight and better gear. At least for that I had the original (digital) multitrack recordings, but it took two years to get all the digital files running again. Mind that – just 15 years and your digital memory might be lost already or only retrieved with great effort or cost, even within the very same system: ProTools on a Mac. Meanwhile, I just put the tapes from ‘To The Highest Gods We Know’ on the machine and simply work with them.
Other records are still in stock, some won’t be reprinted anyway.
But when possible I will take the opportunity to remix the rest of our catalogue step by step. Because the sound could be better. It is a lot of work (and actually not paid) but it’s simply a thing I want to do.
With the home studio, I have the possibility and occasion to work on them again. And there are reasons why I think I can get to better results now:
– Over the years, I’ve learned more about mixing. I have a better idea what I’m hearing and how to achieve things.
– My studio finally has proper monitoring. For the first time since ‘All,’ I can really hear what is going on.
– The studio is complete. I do not miss another Equalizer-Channel if I need one. I’m happy with it, got used to what I have and don’t want different or new stuff. I have a tendency to collect things, but thankfully this always ends at some point. I can complete a collection.
– I have no pressure. I can work relaxed at home on the recordings whenever I’m up to it.
– Foremost, it is now finally fun to work in that place.
‘In Her Garden’ is the first record I mixed and mastered with this new situation. The actual changes in the mixing are not that big – it is still the same recordings and the same person working with the same setup on them. But little changes make quite some difference for my ears:
– First of all I learned to take much more care with levels. In the individual tracks, differences in gain settings are subtle to hear, but the dedicated control over all levels throughout the signal chain leads to a less “choked,” more open-sounding result. Though my console has headroom forever I had to learn how different it sounds depending on how you drive it.
– Where for quite some time I kept the ideal of mixing very “dry” without any additional reverberation on the basic tracks, I’m a bit less dogmatic about such things now and I learned to utilize reverberation better.
– I learned how to take greater care of mixing keyboards and vocals…
– Another benefit for the remix was I didn’t feel the pressure to present a new album and also had more distance to the music and therefore maybe a clearer view – remixing ‘In Her Garden’ was pretty relaxed and happened over the course of seven months.
For my ears all this results in a more “open,” pleasant and relaxed sound. The record is more dynamic and sounds brighter and fuller, even though the equalizer settings actually haven’t changed much. It’s just a bit more on-spot here and there, so the individual signals integrate better.
What was changed on the material? Not much, just in:
– “Black Lilly”: I was never satisfied with how the vocals worked. I had this melody, an idea of the vocal line, but had trouble performing it. That’s part of why we don’t play this song live; I simply can’t sing it well enough in the original key. But the basic track was the best I could achieve. I mixed it much better now so it is not rolling up my toenails anymore. And I added a new lower background voice to help the basic track. I actually like the vocals in this song pretty much now.
– “Lavatera“ – for ‘In Her Garden,’ I had originally hired Jan as a session musician, which led to expanding Colour Haze to a quartet later. The original organ tracks were a swift improvisation. As “Lavatera” was part of the live set for a couple of years, Jan developed a synthesizer solo that fit the song better. I wanted to integrate this solo also, to create a bridge within the record to Jan being a member of the band now.
Another difference is the mastering.
I’m first generation home-computer, and with all the changes since the ‘80s, I’ve experienced digital memory as shortlived and ever-changing. If you’re reading this and you record anything, ever, mind the trouble we had recreating the ‘Los Sounds de Krauts’ data. From an artistic point of view, a physical copy is still the form that should present the results of our efforts.
We got accustomed to so many things, and until ‘In Her Garden’, I had the idea that the digital master was better with a certain amount of loudness. This by far was not as gruesome as during the early 2000s, but as close as possible to the technical limits of digital audio.
Well, one could imagine it simply is not good to drive anything as far as possible to the technical limits. And though mastering engineers might tell you otherwise, my notion is that limiters (tools that cut off signal peaks so the program can be shifted closer to the limit) never do nice things to audio. They limit.
For [remixing] ‘In Her Garden,’ I forgot all considerations of making it loud. It doesn’t matter for the actual result on vinyl anyway. For or me it sounds less “choked” than everything we did before. Only time will tell if this is a better way.
The recording and mix are analogue. I mixdown to 1/4” stereo tape. From there, mastering is basically the translation to digital, but the tools for it are still analogue – a Hi-End valve equalizer to shape the frequency and a Hi-End valve compressor for some dynamic shaping, to “open up” the dynamics rather than to “squeeze” them together. From there it is converted to digital.
This time I didn’t try anymore to get as loud as possible into the digital domain. I accepted the sonically ideal point of the electronics of my mastering converter (if you need to know, I use a Forssell Mada 2a). And the result after mastering 13 songs every now and then over the course of six weeks with all the songs fitting together in loudness and appearance tells me I’m not totally wrong.
For the vinyl cut I changed from DMM to “half-speed lacquer cut”. The digital files are only half as loud now, but I think it sounds better. You have the volume control – use it! :)
Posted in Questionnaire on March 25th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Matt Harvey of Exhumed, Gruesome, Pounder, etc.
—
How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
I guess I define what I do as making shit – or taking things from my mind and working them into something other people can also check out – whether that’s a piece of music, writing, drawing or whatever it might be. So yeah, making shit.
Describe your first musical memory.
That’s a tough one. My earliest musical memories are tangled up in other stuff – I remember the theme song and all of the musical score pieces for the Spider-Man cartoon from the late 60s very vividly from my childhood, but there was also music from Star Wars, Chariots of Fire, Raiders of the Lost Ark and tons of stuff from my Dad’s record collection – stuff I love like Hendrix, Cream, the Beatles, the Allman Brothers, the Kinks, the Who, the soundtrack to The Big Chill, which had a ton of old Motown tracks on it – and stuff that kinda bugs me like Janis Joplin, Emerson Lake and Palmer and stuff like that. That was all of the stuff floating around my house circa 1979-1981, which are really the first memories I can sort of conjure in the corner of my eye. When I try to really wrap my perception around them or see them clearly, they recede, but they’re definitely there. I remember humming all the time as a kid while I drew – I loved to draw as a little kid, mostly comic book stuff – and my mom asking me what I was humming and I had no idea, it was just whatever little tune was running through my head, so I guess that’s always been there. I feel very lucky that little tune has never stopped, it’s just mutated and spiraled and branched into a tangle of streams and floods and tributaries of consciousness.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
As an audience member, I think my favorite moment came while watching S&M II in San Francisco where Metallica played with the symphony. There was a fantastic contrabass player who did an incredible arrangement of Anesthesia – Pulling Teeth that was incredibly moving. Knowing what that might have meant to Cliff had he lived to see it just filled me with an unexpected surge of emotion that brought me to the brink of tears. As a songwriter or a player, I don’t know that there’s a “best moment” really. I love the feeling of each tiny, incremental epiphany that comes from finally making sense of some aspect of music theory or coming up with a sick riff or seeing your idea work in ways you didn’t even anticipate. Every time is amazing, and it happens all the time. That’s what keeps me interested (okay, maybe obsessed) with writing music pretty much all the time.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
Over the years, I’ve come to be more objective about my own perspectives, or at least I’ve tried to become more objective. One shift that was significant to me was that I realized that I grew up thinking that the most important things in my music were the music itself and (most importantly) why I was making that music. In learning from / working with others, I’ve come to realize that the presentation and execution of the idea is as important (sometimes more important) than the idea itself. I always saw that as secondary, and shied away from it by trying to call it vanity or pretension, but I realize now spending time on the presentation and execution (whether it be the instruments and gear used to execute the idea or the production values, etc) enriches the idea itself and helps people understand the “why” behind it. That’s a truth that took far too long for me to consider, and even longer for me to admit and subsequently embrace.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
It can lead pretty much anywhere – which is what’s so exciting about it. But for me, I try to make sure it’s not a linear path. I don’t want to progress into a “final form,” because that implies that the journey has an endpoint. I know it’s cliché, but the point is the journey itself, following each tangent into something new and interesting – even if it leads to frustration or “failure,” there’s value in the journey and in the seeking of something. It’s like knowing yourself – a thing that’s never fully possible, but it’s 100% valuable to pursue. I’d say progression leads away from stagnation, away from ideological death and towards something vital and something real.
How do you define success?
Satisfaction with your work – fulfillment from your work, both artistically (the first priority) and materially. Also muscle cars, hookers and cocaine. Kidding (sort of).
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
I remember being really intoxicated in San Francisco years and years ago and somehow my girlfriend and I were hanging out with someone that worked in the morgue of a hospital. As we continued to imbibe, we left the bar and they ended up taking us on a walkthrough which was really interesting. They offered to show me the corpse of a Jane Doe that had washed up out of the bay and clearly they thought it would be cool if I wanted to check it out. I agreed, but upon seeing the body, bloated and discolored from being in the water, I instantly regretted it. I felt like I was intruding on something personal and sad and it wasn’t my business to see that. Whoever that person was, they deserved better than to be leered out by some drunk coked-out Death Metal guy.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
A full-length, epic motion-picture soundtrack.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
Communication – it’s a way of communicating things that you may not even understand about what you’re feeling to people who then not only connect with you and your feelings, but internalize that art and connect it to their own experiences and emotions. That’s a wonderful, wondrous thing to attempt.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
Posted in Questionnaire on March 18th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Eduardo Camini of Locomotiva Elétrica
—
How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
I define Music as an Art that makes me leave everyday reality and explore “mental spaces” that I can only access through it. The same music that brings me relief and makes my mind calmer to move forward.
Describe your first musical memory.
Music came into my life in the late 80s, through Rock bands that I started to enjoy because of my older sister. Playing the guitar came next, and the rest is history…
Describe your best musical memory to date.
The best musical memory is not just one, but every time I can go on stage and play, in addition to the shows I was able to see artists I like.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
I believe it was in 2009 at the first Ozzy Osbourne concert I saw. The expectation was for a bad show due to Ozzy’s age but I went to see “the guy” who invented Heavy Metal. But the show was awesome and really changed my perception about career time/expectations.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
I believe it leads to exploring chords, textures and sound experiences that at a given moment we didn’t imagine existed or that we believed wouldn’t fit into a certain song. Furthermore, I think there is a change in conception about a musical career.
How do you define success?
I think that success is something that is in everyone’s head, very particular. My success can be something everyday for someone else and vice versa, so I can only talk about my success. For me, it’s being in cool places, doing what I like with people who make me feel comfortable.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn´t?
Musically speaking, I’ve seen many fantastic bands ending up in limbo or artists leaving this life. This hurts because so much good music has been lost.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
I have two musical dreams: having a studio and recording a vinyl.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
Make people feel good about themselves.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
Right now I long for an end to the clashes between different countries that I have seen on the news. This is all very wrong.
Today, Indianapolis doom metallers Apostle of Solitude announce the longest stretch of European touring they’ve done. Anchored by appearances at Grand Paris Sludge, Wonnemond Festival and Desertfest Oslo, it’s not their first time abroad, but it’s special both because they’re going places they’ve never been and it’s how the band are celebrating their 20th anniversary.
Following a pair of formative demos, their debut album, Sincerest Misery (discussed here), came out in 2008 through Eyes Like Snow, and set them on an innovative course that helped define an emotive strain of doom which continues to flesh out today. After the warm-but-for-the-artwork reception their second full-length, Last Sunrise (review here), garnered upon release in 2010, the band offered a pair of splits in 2011 and restructured the lineup around founding members Chuck Brown (guitar/vocals) and Corey Webb (drums), bringing in Bob Fouts (who passed away in 2020) on bass and Steve Janiak of heavy rockers Devil to Pay as a second guitarist and singer.
The addition of Janiak to Apostle of Solitude shouldn’t be discounted as a landmark in the band’s 20-year run. I remember picking up their 2012 Demo (discussed here) at Days of the Doomed in Wisconsin that year and listening to the CD on the long drive home. It wasn’t a full conceptual reset for the band — they were doom before and doom after — but it was the start of a new era, and I’ll gladly put the three records they’ve done since, 2014’s Of Woe and Wounds (review here), 2018’s From Gold to Ash (review here), and 2021’s Until the Darkness Goes (review here), forth as examples of their progression in style and songwriting.
They’ve been talking about their next record for a while now, which is kind of how it goes. In the video interview below, which was conducted this past Sunday afternoon as the band met for rehearsal in Brown‘s basement (recognizable from any number of shared pics over the years), they talk a bit about new material and how they might or might not put it together for a sixth LP, but there’s no concrete recording or release plan at this point, and three years out from the last record, that’s fair. But if it’s 2025 or even 2026 before Apostle of Solitude make their next offering, what, you’re gonna be like, “No, this took too long so I won’t listen?” Probably not.
From Webb and Brown as originals, to Janiak now tenured for 13 years, to bassist Marshall Kreeb, who joined last summer, Apostle of Solitude have a range of perspectives on the band’s history, and I felt fortunate to be able to talk to all of them about it. And let the record show that when called upon to stand up for 20 years of Apostle of Solitude, they indeed stood. I say it to them and I’ll write it here: congratulations on 20 years of Apostle of Solitude.
Enjoy the interview. The tour announcement (fresh today) follows in blue.
Here you go:
Apostle of Solitude, Full Band Interview, March 3, 2024
(L-R in video: Steve Janiak, Marshall Kreeb, Chuck Brown, Corey Webb)
Commemorating their 20th Anniversary, Apostle of Solitude embark on a European tour this spring. The tour begins at the Grand Paris Sludge festival in Paris France on April 26th, and includes 14 shows in 7 different countries (including 5 shows and 2 festival appearances with Eyehategod), concluding at Desertfest Oslo in Oslo, Norway on May 11th. Apostle of Solitude have released five full-length albums since the band’s inception in 2004, the most recent being their 2021 release “Until The Darkness Goes”, on Cruz Del Sur Music.
20th Anniversary EU Tour dates are as follows:
April 26 – Paris, France @ Savigny le Temple, l’Empreinte Grand Paris Sludge April 27 – Martigny, Switzerland @ Les Caves du Manior April 28 – Torino, Italy @ Ziggy Club April 29 – Bologna, Italy @ Freakout Club April 30 – Viareggio, Italy @ Circolo ARCI GOB May 02 – Osnabrück, Germany @ Bastard Club May 03 – Berlin, Germany @ Slaughterhouse Berlin May 04 – Vienna, Austria @ Escape Metalcorner May 05 – Budapest, Hungary @ Robot May 07 – Wiesbaden, Germany @ Schlachthof Wiesbaden May 08 – Göppingen, Germany @ Zille May 09 – Düsseldorf, Germany @ Pitcher May 10 – Sebnitz, Germany @ Wonnemond Festival May 11 – Oslo, Norway @ Desertfest Oslo
Apostle of Solitude, Until the Darkness Goes (2021)
Posted in Questionnaire on February 22nd, 2024 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Bill Kielty of O Zorn!
—
How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
When I first heard the band Electric Wizard in like 2001/2002, I thought wow, this sounds amazing. I want to do something like that. The band I was in at the time was kinda rock, kinda emo. Just kinda lame. I was sick to death of it. When that band broke up, I formed a band called Who Rides The Tiger, and started exploring the darker sound. Tuned down. Got heavy. That band disbanded in 2008 or so. A couple years later, I formed O ZORN! and went even heavier with it. Not sure I can define exactly what we’re doing at the moment, but I feel like we’re progressing.
Describe your first musical memory.
My family went to some folk festival at the University of Riverside in California. I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. My memory of it is super spotty, but the picture in my head has stuck with me my entire life. The venue was called “The Barn” and throughout all my twenties and early thirties, it was THE local venue for all things punk, metal and hardcore. Saw a shitload of bands roll through there and took the stage myself a bunch. It’s still there. Place went soft years ago. Mostly cover and tribute bands these days.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
The Ramones and Murphys Law at the Palladium in 1989. It was the Pet Cemetery tour. I was really young. My best friend’s older brother drove us to Hollywood, which was a first. It was the loudest thing I’d ever heard. The pit was the scariest thing I’d ever seen. My ears were ringing for three days after. It was fuckin awesome.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
For years, I firmly believed that I could control my drinking. Turns out, after years of trying, I cannot. I tried REALLY hard though.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
For me, artistic progression simply leads to and justifies me continuing to create.
How do you define success?
Seeing something through, no matter the task, as long as there’s some sense of accomplishment.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
Many years ago, I spotted Kerry King (Slayer) buying a scented candle in Things Remembered at The Galleria Mall in Riverside. I’ve never looked at him the same since.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
I’d like to start painting someday. Maybe a large oil painting. I feel like I’d be pretty good at it.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
I think there’s many functions but for me, Art allows my brain some escape from my daily bullshit. Temporarily of course. Most of us don’t have enough of it weaved into our lives.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to.
I’m looking forward to the day where the last of the boomers are out of office.
Today’s the day, kiddos. Swedish jammers Kungens Män release their latest collection, För samtida djur 1 (review here), through Majestic Mountain Records as the first of two chapters with the next to be unveiled later this year. And when I say a phrase like “Swedish jammers” in that prior sentence, rest assured what I mean is that the warm-toned, organic-vibes-only-yes-even-in-the-synth six-piece head ever closer toward the heart of the creative spark itself, endeavoring with the ethic of harnessing a moment of creation as it happens — the proverbial lightning in the bottle. This is an ideology held by a lot of improv-based outfits, some of whom write three-minute pop songs, which even as Kungens Män refine their own approach and dig into crafting material more across this nine-song/45-minute outing, remains open, experimental, righteously weird, and very much its own kind of fun.
The title För samtida djur 1 translates to English as ‘For contemporary animals 1,’ and fair enough. I played it for the dog and she didn’t seem to mind, but I take the ‘animals’ more in the sense of an outsider cast. Maybe that’s you, maybe that’s them, I think it’s probably everybody at some point or another, but as you immerse in the album stream below, maybe something to hold onto in the back of your head while perusing the track-by-track that the band has generally offered, giving insight into their methods, the circumstances of the album’s making (as well as that of the video for the title-track that premiered here and you can see near the bottom of the post), and revealing some of the little things — a guitar that sounds like a cat, some cellphone interference — that made the experience from the band’s own point of view. I can’t help but feel like for an album that starts off basking in anachronism with the dialing of a rotary phone, the phrase, “Confusion is what we like,” posited below by the band, is a fitting summary. See also, “Perhaps not to reach a goal but to feel alive.”
So jump in and maybe let yourself be confused a bit. För samtida djur 2 will reportedly be more of a stretch-out in terms of longer songs and such, but if maybe you’re new to the band as a result of their being picked up by Majestic Mountain or other happenstance, this initial För samtida djur installment should make for a rousing introduction.
I beg of you, enjoy yourself. Thanks to the band for the time and words. Thanks to the label for letting me host the stream. Thank you for reading.
Here we go:
Kungens Män: För Samtida Djur 1 Track-by-Track
”Framtidens start” (The start of the future)
Mikael: The hotline to Moderskeppet, Aspudden.
Indy: …which is where we hang out to create our stuff.
”För samtida djur” (For contemporary animals)
Mikael: This is from a session without Indy, so Peter brought out the drum machine instead. Everything is steady, but slightly off like it should be. Someone from another timezone in the real world is eager to get in touch while we keep on dreaming about androids getting eaten by ancient fish.
Gustav: When we shot the video for this song, video director Patrik Instedt thought his cat was meowing – three times in a row! “The cat” is me playing the pointy guitar. We also have some classic cell phone disturbances somewhere in all the mess. Confusion is what we like.
”Tycka rakt” (To think straight)
Mikael: Me and Gustav are wearing our Sonic Youth worship on our sleeves in this song, though in a very mellow way. A threatening slow, dark undercurrent is flowing in the bass and synth department giving the song very interesting temperament layers.
Gustav: Micke is 100% right. I still haven’t gotten over Sonic Youth not being an active band, and it’s been a few years now.
”Grovmotorik” (Gross motor skills)
Mikael: The main riff is invented by Gustav, followed by a catchy synth riff, the rest of us chugging away while Hans paints a floating landscape. Then gradually falling apart until the song enters a completely different headspace in the tail end.
Gustav: An example of an occasion when everyone makes their own musical decision, sticking to it while trying to find their place among the rhythms and riffs. The mood shifts by the end, the music falls apart.
”Motarbetaren” (The opposer)
Mikael: This is probably my favorite song on this album. I have never quite heard anything like it. To me it sounds like The Velvet Underground making music for a 1970:s children’s tv show. Distorted steam train awakening.
Gustav: The organ grinder from Rabbalshede market is here and he cranks and he cranks.
”Virvelresan” (The vortex trip)
Mikael: Serenity among the spikes. Once again an interesting conversation full of information, but still the space remains open and open ended.
Gustav: Another mood swing! A conversation, just like Micke says. Things are constantly happening on all fronts, and even if we talk over each other’s mouths sometimes it’s more like we’re filling in each other’s speech.
”Bra moln” (Nice cloud)
Mikael: Meditation music. Watch the thoughts/clouds passing by. Chimes and horns – breath in, breath out.
Gustav: “Thank you, if you appreciated the tuning so much I hope you will enjoy the playing more”. Like the famous quote from Ravi Shankar, it’s more like we are tuning than playing here. Sometimes it’s the most basic things that hit you the hardest.
”Tyska ninjor” (German ninjas)
Mikael: Relentless hi-hat beauty by Indy. Sometimes we have to run with this machinelike state of mind. Perhaps not to reach a goal but to feel alive.
Gustav: Get up! Time to shake your hips! One thing that Micke sometimes does while he’s mixing is to have the “riff guitar” up front in the mix while the “lead guitar” is a little more in the background. This creates a certain atmosphere, and it sharpens your ears.
”Nu eller aldrig” (Now or never)
Mikael: The Pharoah Sanders vibe is strong here, what is there not to love? This was an exciting space to be in, with everyone adding dots, splashes, mirrors and shades, painting a loud whisper.
Gustav: As a completely subjective observer, I can conclude that “För samtida djur 1” is a very diverse and very good album. This track sums it all up very well.
