Posted in Reviews on January 3rd, 2025 by JJ Koczan
The album sets its theme around the sea, which is fair enough, but if you find yourself drawn toward the sky, cosmos or some kind of other otherworldly landscape during the 40 minutes of West Mata, one could hardly blame Kombynat Robotron. At a certain point, expanse is expanse. Recorded in Spring 2023 at ZFML with Kio Krabbenhöft helming (Felix Margraf mixed and mastered), West Mata takes place over three extended tracks, beginning with the longest (immediate points) “Jason II” (21:54) on side A before “Vasa” (6:57) and “Trieste” (11:36) take hold across side B and setting out on a textured course of mindful drift in its initial going. Guitarist Jannes Ihnen echoes out across mellowpsych reaches, a tonal shimmer having emerged from a cocoon of drone gradually in the first couple minutes, and bassist Claas Ogorek and drummer Thomas Handschick — both also of the more crush-minded Earthbong — give the groove cohesion without taking away from the fluidity, which is an obvious priority for an album that, at some point or other, the band decided was about water.
As much fun as it can be and often is to accede to the whims of an album like West Mata, with a stated expressive purpose, the fact of the matter is that the subject being instrumentally explored can’t be effectively conveyed without real world chemistry underlying. That is to say, it wouldn’t matter what the songs were about if the songs didn’t take the listener anywhere. However, West Mata is duly transportive. “Jason II” doesn’t ever have the outward arrogance to be sweeping, but the howling guitar and residual distorted rumblings, the casual tap of the ride and snare acting as aural emulsifier, are so smooth that by the time Kombynat Robotron are eight minutes in, the pictures are vivid. A re-mellowing brings warmth of low end beneath a sparser lead layer, and though the song is only half over circa 10:45, what’s been laid out at that point is a single procession of slow movement. If you told me it was about the galaxial orbit or the superposition of quantum states, I don’t think I’d be able to fight you and say, “No way, boss! It’s the ocean!” with more than their say-so to back me up. Granted that’s not nothing, but six LPs and however-many whatever-elses later — earlier in 2024, they took part in a four-way split (review here) for Worst Bassist Records, for example — Kombynat Robotron aren’t so closed in the evocations on a sheer sonic level.
This sounds like a critique of the band, or like I’m saying they didn’t accomplish their goal in basing West Mata around the sea. I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying that whether you think “Jason II” is about horror flicks or Argonauts, there’s room in the material itself for your interpretation. Kombynat Robotron have an open, jam-based approach to psychedelia, and West Mata is rich in atmosphere as well as tone. If you didn’t know “Vasa” was named for a 17th century Swedish shipwreck or “Trieste” for the first vessel to submerge into the Mariana Trench, or indeed that the album itself is named for a chain of active volcanoes near the Pacific Island of Tonga, you can probably still appreciate the serenity with which “Jason II” (perhaps named for a model of submersible) contemplates its back half, or the transition to a more physical rhythm in “Vasa,” or the noisier crux of “Trieste.”
This is not a weakness. West Mata is what it was intended to be, and more. A given listener’s choice whether or not to engage with the thematic will invariably play into how they hear the material — the power of suggestion is always a factor, but on general principle, you won’t hear me rag on a band for the decision to apply narrative to their work — and however they go, the point is that Kombynat Robotron are headed out.
With a progression between its songs that moves from the least to arguably the most active material — if you want to quibble on “active” between the boogie of “Vasa” and the scorch of “Trieste,” I’ll cite the careening, daring-toward-abrasive finish of the latter as the noisiest and busiest stretch included among the three cuts — there is a strong sense of a plan at work, but at no point in West Mata are Kombynat Robotron too heavy-handed in it. There are changes, of course, as one part evolves into the next and the personality of a work begins to take shape, and each piece seems to reset before it begins its own plunge, but movement overarching is from a minimal sound to a wash (you bet your ass I intended that pun), and that linearity lends a distinctive set of purpose to the proceedings, heady though it is. But it’s okay. Somehow I think if you can put up with reading this review up to this point, ‘heady’ won’t be too much of a threat to keep you from enjoying a 40-minute long-player. Just speculating.
In the interest of honesty, and maybe this came through in the discussion above whether I wanted it to or not, I let go of the watery foundation pretty quickly with West Mata. I tend to think of a style like Kombynat Robotron‘s on more cosmic terms — and for sure the band are no stranger to those — and that’s where my head went, with “Trieste” boasting a somewhat darker ambience as it departs the cacophony to leave residual drone and amplifier hum. Whether that’s the last thing you hear before you fall in the singularity or come up to the surface with the ocean on all sides, the album holds up. That isn’t necessarily a surprise for Kombynat Robotron, who’ve been at it with all due proficiency to suit a genre existing well outside of normal spacetime for eight years or so, but it does account for the surehanded guidance they provide to the mediation in sound happening here. And if you take that mediation in a different direction, I can’t imagine anybody’s gonna yell at you. No one is going to say you’re wrong. Have your own experience. I got away with it so far.
Posted in Whathaveyou on November 20th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
You ever put on the wrong record? Well, yesterday, I had the wrong record on, and it wasn’t until I stopped it and put on Kombynat Robotron‘s upcoming three-song LP West Mata instead that I realized it. The German cosmic-jam expeditionists — who share members with the more plundering but also longform-prone Earthbong — will release the album Dec. 6 through a multinational consortium that includes Cardinal Fuzz, Little Cloud Records and Clostridium Records. It’s not an insignificant amount of support for an instrumental improv-based space rock outfit, but I mean, I get it. Maybe West Mata was the right record for all of them too.
No public audio yet, but the release date’s Dec. 6, so coming around quick. Preorders are up from everybody, and the links are below. The PR wire brings more about the record’s aquatic theme:
Kombynat Robotron – West Mata – Release: Dec 6th 2024
West Mata is the 6th studio record by Kiel/Germany based Psych/Krautrockband Kombynat Robotron. The release of this album is the result of a cooperation between Clostridium Records (Germany), Cardinal Fuzz Records (UK) and Little Cloud Records (USA).
After their space-themed record -270°C (2021) and the following, earth-themed record Frohe Zukunft (2023) Kombynat Robotron are closing the circle with the waterthemed West Mata.
With a total length of about 50 minutes split in three tracks the band returns to their long-form jam-based approach to songwriting on West Mata.
For thousands of years, the sea has been both a place of longing and an antagonist for mankind and, despite being fully explored, it still resists all of mankind’s efforts and technical sophistications. The eternal continuity of the sea is taken up as a musical motif by all three tracks on West Mata. Seemingly stoic and unchanging, the rhythm undulates in the depths and yet every moment is full of change and movement on the surface.
In 21 minutes, Jason 2 unfolds it’s wings like a manta ray and takes us from Greek mythology to modern satellite technology: silvery sound surfaces that merge in silent agreement, come together to form the same and yet always different shapes, disappear and emerge again.
A look into the depths belies the impression of timelessness, because the history of exploring and mastering the seas is always also a history of hubris and failure. The wreck of the Vasa, which sank on its maiden voyage almost 400 years ago due to a design flaw, had not yet been recovered when the Titanic sank in 1912 after colliding with an iceberg. A story, a motif, told in ever-changing variations. It has always been the same, same old story.
With Trieste the album finally plunges into the endless depths of the ocean. The movement forward is a movement downwards, driven by the belief that there is something to be discovered and understood even in the most hostile environment. We can just hope that the steel shell can withstand the pressure that increases with every meter and hope we can catch a glimpse of the abyss before the abyss looks back in us. Get in and look into the depths.
Das Album will be released in three different vinyl editions:
Posted in Reviews on November 29th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Day three of the Quarterly Review is always a good time. Passing the halfway point for the week isn’t nothing, and I take comfort in knowing there’s another 25 to come after the first 25 are down. Sometimes it’s the little things.
But let’s not waste the few moments we have. I hope you find something you dig.
Quarterly Review #21-30:
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Melody Fields, 1901
Though it starts out firmly entrenched in ’60s psychedelia in “Going Back,” Melody Fields‘ 1901 is less genre-adherent and/or retroist than one might expect. “Jesus” borrows from ’70s soul, but is languid in its rollout with horn-esque sounds for a Morricone-ish vibe, while “Rave On” makes a hook of its folkish and noodly bridge. Keyboards bring a krautrock spirit to “Mellanväsen,” which is fair as “Transatlantic” blisses out ’90s electro-rock, and “Home at Last” prog-shuffles in its own swirl — a masterclass in whatever kind of psych you want to call it — as “Indian MC” has an acoustic strum that reminds of some of Lamp of the Universe‘s recent urgings, and “Void” offers 53 seconds of drone before the stomp of the catchy “In Love” and the keyboard-dreamy “Mayday” ends side B with a departure to match “Transatlantic” capping side A. Unexpectedly, 1901, which is the Swedish outfit’s second LP behind their 2018 self-titled debut (review here), is one of two albums they have for Fall 2023, with 1991 a seeming companion piece. Here’s looking forward.
La Chinga don’t have time for bullshit. They’re going right to the source. Black Sabbath. Motörhead. Enough Judas Priest in “Electric Eliminator” for the whole class and a riffy swagger, loosely Southern in “Stars Fall From the Sky,” and elsewhere, that reminds of Dixie Witch or Halfway to Gone, and that aughts era of heavy generally. “Backs to the Wall” careens with such a love of ’80s metal it reminds of Bible of the Devil — while cuts like “Bolt of Lightning,” “Rings of Power” and smash-then-run opener “Light it Up” immediately positions the trio between ’70s heavy rock and the more aggressive fare it helped produce. Throughout, La Chinga are poised but not so much so as to take away from the energy of their songs, which are impeccably written, varied in energy, and drawn together through the vitality of their delivery. Here’s a kickass rock band, kicking ass. It might be a little too over-the-top for some listeners, but over-the-top is a target unto itself. La Chinga hit it like oldschool masters.
Best known for their work together in Mammothwing and now also both members of Church of the Cosmic Skull as well, brothers Bill Fisher and Marty Fisher make a point of stripping back as much as possible with Massive Hassle, scaling down the complex arrangements of what’s now their main outfit but leaving room for harmonies, on-sleeve Thin Lizzy love and massive fuzz in cuts like “Lane,” “Drifter,” the speedier penultimate “Drink” and the slow-nod payoff of “Fibber,” which closes. That attitude — which one might see developing in response to years spend plugging away in a group with seven people and everyone wears matching suits — assures a song like “Kneel” fits, with its restless twists feeling born organically out of teenage frustrations, but many of Number One‘s strongest moments are in its quieter, bluesy explorations. The guitar holds a note, just long enough that it feels like it might miss the beat on the turnaround, then there’s the snare. With soul in the vocals to spare and a tension you go for every time, if Massive Hassle keep this up they’re going to have to be a real band, and ugh, what a pain in the ass that is.
One of the best albums of 2023, and not near the bottom of the list. Italy’s Sherpa demonstrated their adventurous side with 2018’s Tigris & Euphrates (review here), but the six-song/39-minute Land of Corals is in a class of its own as regards their work. Breaking down genre barriers between industrial/dance, psychedelia, doom, and prog, Sherpa keep a special level of tonal heft in reserve that’s revealed near the end of opener “Silt” and is worthy — yes I mean this — of countrymen Ufomammut in its cosmic impact. “High Walls” is more of a techno throb with a languid melodic vocal, but the two-part, eight-minute “Priest of Corals” begins a thread of Ulverian atmospherics that continues not so much in the second half of the song itself, which brings back the heavy from “Silt” and rolls back and forth over the skull, but in the subsequent “Arousal,” which has an experimental edge in its later reaches and backs its beat with a resonant sprawl of drone. This is so much setup for the apex in “Coward/Pilgrimage to the Sun,” which is the kind of wash that will make you wonder if we’re all just chemicals, and closer “Path/Mud/Barn,” which feels well within its rights to take its central piano line for a walk. I haven’t seen a ton of hype for it, which tracks, but this feels like a record that’s getting to know you while you’re getting to know it.
A sludge metal of marked ferocity and brand-name largesse, Acid Throne‘s debut album, Kingdom’s Death sets out with destructive and atmospheric purpose alike, and while it’s vocals are largely grunts in “River (Bare My Bones)” and the straight-up deathly “Hallowed Ground,” if there’s primitivism at work in the 43-minute six-songer, it’s neither in the character of their tones or what they’re playing. Like a rockslide in a cavern, “Death is Not the End” is the beginning, with melodic flourish in the lead guitar as it passes the halfway point and enough crush generally to force your blood through your pores. It moves slower than “River (Bare My Bones),” but the Norwich, UK, trio are dug in regardless of tempo, with “King Slayer” unfolding like Entombed before revealing itself as more in line with a doomed take on Nile or Morbid Angel. Both it and “War Torn” grow huge by their finish, and the same is true of “Hallowed Ground,” though if you go from after the intro it also started out that way, and the 11-minute closer “Last Will & Testament” is engrossing enough that its last drones give seamlessly over to falling rain almost before you know it. There are days like this. Believe it.
The Holy Nothing, Vol. 1: A Profound and Nameless Fear
With an intensity thrust forth from decades of Midwestern post-hardcore disaffection, Indiana trio The Holy Nothing make their presence felt with Vol. 1: A Profound and Nameless Fear, a five-song/17-minute EP that’s weighted and barking in its onslaught and pivots almost frenetically from part to part, but that nonetheless has an overarching groove that’s pure Sabbath boogie in centerpiece “Unending Death,” and opener “Bathe Me” sets the pummeling course with noise rock and nu metal chicanery, while “Bliss Trench” raw-throats its punkish first half en route to a slowdown that knows it’s hot shit. Bass leads the way into “Mondegreen,” with a threatening chug and post-hardcore boogie, just an edge of grunge to its later hook to go with the last screams, and feedback as it inevitably would, leads the way into “Doom Church,” with a more melodic and spacious echoing vocal and a riff that seems to kind of eat the rest of the song surrounding. I’ll be curious how the quirk extrapolates over a full-length’s runtime, but they sound like they’re ready to get weird and they’re from Fort Wayne, which is where Charlton Heston was from in Planet of the Apes, and I’m sorry, but that’s just too on-the-nose to be a coincidence.
Runway may be making their self-titled debut with this eight-song/31-minute blowout LP delivered through Cardinal Fuzz, Echodelick and We, Here & Now as a triumvirate of lysergic righteousness, but the band is made up of five former members of Saskatoon instrumentalists Shooting Guns so it’s not exactly their first time at the dance of wavy lines and chambered echo that make even the two-minute “No Witnesses” feel broad, and the crunch-fuzz of “Attempted Mordor,” the double-time hi-hat on “Franchy Cordero” that vibes with all the casual saunter of Endless Boogie but in a shorter package as the song’s only four minutes long. “Banderas” follows a chugging tack and doesn’t seem to release its tension even in the payoff, but “Crosshairs” is all freedom-rock, baby, with a riff like they put the good version of America in can, and the seven-minute capper “Mailman” reminds that our destination was the cosmos all along. Jam on, you glorious Canadian freaks. By this moniker or any other, your repetitive excavations are always welcome on these shores.
Spanish heavy rockers Wet Cactus look to position themselves at the forefront of a regional blossoming with their third album, the 12-track Magma Tres. Issued through Electric Valley Records, the 45-minute long-player follows 2018’s Dust, Hunger and Gloom (review here) and sees the band tying together straightforward, desert-style heavy rock with a bit of grunge sway in “Profound Dream” before it twists around to heavy-footed QOTSA start-stops ahead of the fuzzy trash-boogie of “Mirage” and the duly headspinning guitar work of “My Gaze is Fixed Ahead.” The second half of the LP has interludes between sets of two tracks — the album begins with “I. The Long Escape…” as the first of them — but the careening “Self Bitten Snake” and the tense toms under the psych guitar before that big last hook in “Solar Prominence” want nothing for immediacy, and even “IV. …Of His Musical Ashes!,” which closes, becomes a charge with the band’s collective force behind it. There’s more to what they do than people know, but you could easily say the same thing about the entire Iberian Peninsula’s heavy underground.
All-caps Icelandic troupe MC MYASNOI telegraph their experimentalism early in the drone of “Liquid Lung [Nucomp]” and let some of the noise around the electronic nod in “Antenula [OEBT]” grow caustic in the first half before first bliss then horror build around a progression of drums, ending with sax and feedback and noise and where were the lines between them anyway. The delve into the unknown threads more feedback through “Slug Paradox,” which has a vocal line somewhere not terribly far off from shoegaze, but is itself nothing so pedestrian, while “Kuroki” sounds like it could’ve been recorded at rehearsal, possibly on the other side of the wall. The go-wherever-you-end-up penchant holds in “Bleach in Eye,” and when “Xcomputer must dieX” clicks on, it brings about the rumble MC MYASNOI seem to have been threatening all along without giving up the abidingly oddball stance, what with the keyboard and sax and noise, noise, noise, plus whispers at the end. I’m sure that in the vast multiverse there’s a plenet that’s ready for the kind of off-kilter-everythingism wrought by MC MYASNOI, but you can bet your ass this ain’t it. And if you’re too weird for earth, you’re alright by me.
The 2020 album from transient folk singer-songwriter Cinder Well, No Summer (review here), landed with palpable empathy in a troubled July, and Cadence has a similar minimalist place to dwell in “Overgrown” or finale “I Will Close in the Moonlight,” but by and large the arrangements are more lush throughout the nine songs of the latest work. Naturally, Amelia Baker‘s voice remains a focal point for the material, but organ, viola and fiddle, drums and bass, etc., bring variety to the gentle delivery of “Gone the Holding,” the later reaches of “Crow” and allow for the build of elements in “A Scorched Lament” that make that song’s swaying crescendo such a high point. And having high points is somewhat striking, in context, but Cinder Well‘s range as shown throughout Cadence is beholden to no single emotional or even stylistic expression. If you’d read this and gripe that the record isn’t heavy — shit. Listen again.
A new Abronia album barely over a year since they put out their triumphant third record, Map of Dawn (review here)? Sort of. The Portland, Oregon, heavy psych/dark Americana crew offered that under-heralded LP — and it was plenty heralded, just not as much as it deserved — through Cardinal Fuzz and Feeding Tube Records, and The High Desert Sessions isn’t quite a proper follow-up. The clue is in ‘Sessions,’ in the title. Delivered through the same labels as its predecessor — it came out last Friday and I already missed getting one of the edition-of-80 CDRs; tape is still available as I write this — and what it hints toward is a familiar escapist narrative of a band absconding from real life and its sundry woes, secluding themselves in some remote location, a cabin in the woods or some such, and focusing on nothing but creating music for some given time.
It is an experiment many have undertaken, and Abronia — vocalist/tenor saxophonist Keelin Mayer, guitarists Paul Michael Schaefer and Eric Crespo (the latter also sometimes vocals), bassist Shaun Lyvers, Shaver on the big drum, and Rick Pedrosa on pedal steel — use the opportunity to conjure 12 tracks across a sometimes challenging but still manageable 37-minute LP that, really, you don’t have to worry that it sold out in like a day, because the music itself demands more to be made, let alone the buying public.
Headphones are just about mandatory for what might be Abronia‘s Walden, regardless of the volume or concentration one might otherwise give it. The material is too nuanced, too much going on in the percussion jam of “No Time for a Fire” with the repetitive curls of sax worked into the rhythm, and much of the atmospheric vocal work will simply fade into the background of the varied pieces in which it appears. And it doesn’t always. Most of The High Desert Sessions is instrumental. The album is deeply flowing through many shifts in arrangement, as though each of the 12 inclusions is a snippet of a longer improvisation or exploration, and they’ve been edited and aligned together, bleeding directly from one to the next except where the band has made the choice not to, as with “Rough Eyed J.E.R.K.S.” and “Open the Door for Water,” which follows and is where a vinyl side A and B would split.
Crespo mixed and mastered, and regardless of how much is going on at any given point, whether it’s a piece like “Liar,” which grows relatively minimal in its middle, or “Winged Seeds” with its central guitar conversation. Much of the material is pastoral even before the pedal steel comes in, and The High Desert Sessions, though it goes a number of places Abronia haven’t gone before in terms of actual sounds being made, is consistent atmospherically with Map of Dawn, 2020’s The Whole of Each Eye (review here) and 2017’s Obsidian Visions/Shadowed Lands (review here). The basic fact of the matter is that their style is open enough that they can go where they want and have it fit. If nothing else, The High Desert Sessions argues that decisively.
But there is, of course, more in the pieces themselves. The nine-minute opener/longest track (immediate points) “Moving Furniture” is an obvious standout and focal point. Where most of The High Desert Sessions could be called interlaced snippets, pieces of jams edited together to create a varied flow across the two sides of the whole work — semi-raga second track “Thrushes” drone-meditating its way into the start of “No Time for a Fire,” the many fadeouts and -ins of side B as “Target Practice” moves from its maybe-a-scream and percussive ritualizing to the mellower and post-rocky “Barely a Season,” which feels more like it could be built into a proper Abronia ‘song,’ with Morricone flourish in the guitar and solidified bass and percussion beneath — and that methodology comports with the off-to-where-people-aren’t narrative behind the record’s making. They may well have had to relocate a couch or two as they got started, and for sure “Open the Door for Water” is the kind of thing one might find on a note or a printed sheet at an AirBNB off in the high desert, but “Moving Furniture” also clues the listener into the personality of the release, which is fortunate since it comprises about a quarter of its runtime.
Listen hard (with those headphones on) and you might hear someone yell ‘stop!’ at 7:43 amid the low-key wash of drones and chimes and various obscure instrumentation — instrument-wise, there is a lot on The High Desert Sessions that could be one thing or could be another, the band employing the usual sax and pedal steel as well as berimbau, dobro, banjo, bowed dulcimer, acoustic and electric guitars, maybe a keyboard in there? — but the song brings itself down gradually in thick-sounding cymbals, maybe-vocal and other drones, and a final move into more urgent big-drum thud, and a couple vocalizations before the serenity of “Thrushes” takes hold.
The experimentalist ethos becomes part of The High Desert Sessions‘ appeal, and whether one sits and picks apart each individual movement, the two-minute “Artemesia” with its rhythmic-pause lyrics, wavy guitar and pedal steel flourish and sudden rise of tape hiss at the end, or the crash-start “Rolling Mass” likewise feeling more ‘song’-ish with a plotted-seeming guitar figure at its core following the drum march, or lets the procession from one to the next hypnotize and carry through the full LP stretch — if you listen digitally or got one of those CDRs, you don’t even have to flip sides; nothing against tapes or vinyl — Abronia reward the experience.
But as to what’s making the string-ish sound in “Rough Eyed J.E.R.K.S.,” for example, I have no idea, though if you took a bowed dulcimer or a berimbau — and ran it through some pedals and were recording it live to an 8-track tape along with some organ and cymbals and drone, it might indeed end up so folkish and biting in the finished product. One way or the other, the bottom line is The High Desert Sessions gives a showcase to the experimental side of what Abronia do, letting listeners perhaps have a deeper look at their process, or at least how they work together with a single creative goal in mind. That it stands so well on its own as a full-length outing and does so much to complement their other work should be taken as another sign of how singular this band is becoming. The kind of outfit who can make moving furniture sound good.
Posted in Whathaveyou on July 10th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
You might recall last year when German psychedelic instrumentalists Acid Rooster released their Ad Astra (review here) LP, the hype around it was thick enough to swim in. The music itself was prone more to drift, as it happened, but with the narrative behind it of being recorded live in an outdoor space during the pandemic, a small gathering put to tape at a singularly desperate moment, the gorgeousness of its two extended tracks took on a depth not often granted to improv-based psych. Three labels have lined up to release Flowers and Dead Souls, the new full-length from Acid Rooster, on Aug. 25.
They’re listed below along with the territories being covered between the UK, Europe and the US — that’s Cardinal Fuzz, Tonzonen and Little Cloud, respectively — while there’s no audio yet, I wouldn’t necessarily be surprised if when the album arrives, it isn’t also a two-songer with “Flowers” on one side and “Dead Souls” on the other. Not saying I know that — because I don’t — but given the context of Ad Astra it’s certainly possible, and the thought of more explorations from this particular outfit is enticing given the patience and breadth they demonstrated last time out.
I assume what happens next is the album details, maybe one of the songs — or more, if there are more — streamed ahead of time through an outlet likely much cooler than this one, and preorders, etc., but Acid Rooster also have a couple gigs coming up including a stop at Krach am Bach, a swing through the Other Side Festival in London, and a slot supporting Dopelord in Nijmegen, the Netherlands.
Album cover and particulars, as per socials:
NEWS FROM ACID ROOSTER
‘Hey fellows, we are over the moon to finally share the news and announce that our second studio album will be released on august 25th via Tonzonen (EU), Cardinal Fuzz (UK) and Little Cloud Records (US) !!
Check out the artwork for „Flowers and Dead Souls” by our friend and genius Marco Heinzmann aka @superquiet.
We have some more exciting things coming up, so stay tuned and save the date !
Pre Order starts soon !’
Acid Rooster live: Aug 04 Krach am Bach Beelen, Germany Oct 14 The Victoria, Dalston London, UK (Other Side Festival) Oct 21 Doornroosje Nijmegen, Netherlands (w/ Dopelord, Bismut)
Posted in Whathaveyou on May 24th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
I was hoping I guess that at some point in the last 24 hours, Oregonian heavy Americana psych purveyors Abronia would post a track from their upcoming release, The High Desert Sessions, which they make efforts to distinguish from 2022’s Map of Dawn (review here) and whatever their next full-length will be, focusing on the open nature of the reclusion-jam experience, going away to the proverbial cabin in the woods — or in this case, the high(est) desert — to improvise and explore as one might in that less-distracting context. No such luck.
Fortunately, the description below from Feeding Tube Records‘ Byron Coley goes pretty deep in discussing the makings and results of this experiment on the band’s part, broadening the expectations of those familiar with their general songwriting modus while hinting at some of the personality aspects that carry over therefrom. As to whether or not opening track “Moving Furniture” lives up to its name in Abronia relocating a couch so they have room to jam, we’ll just have to wait and see.
From their Bandcamp:
ABRONIA – The High Desert Sessions
Releasing June 30th on cassette via Feeding Tube Records and CD-R via Cardinal Fuzz.
Recorded onto cassette 8 track in Central Oregon by Abronia. Mixed and Mastered at Torch Toucher by Eric Crespo.
From Byron Coley: After recording three studio albums (two of which — 2019’s The Whole of Each Eye FTR498 and 2022’s Map of Dawn FTR669 — we were honored to co-release with Cardinal Fuzz), this amazing Portland OR sextet decided to try something different. An experiment. They packed a vanload of gear and headed out to a rural house in Central Oregon with an 8 track recorder. Besides their standard array of axes, they also brought various “little instruments” as well as acoustic strings and percussives of various stripes, then spent three full days jamming from very early to very late.
There was a lot improvisation, instrument swapping and musical hijinkery quite different from their standard approach. This resulted in a dozen tapes filled with all sorts of ideas and sounds, and the band started fiddling with them as soon as they got home. The High Desert Sessions is the result.
The music is arranged into two side-long suites, which ramble around some very weird stylistic junctures, ranging from dusty slide guitar segments to loud roars of rock aktion, dissonant blares of jazzoid skronk and dreamy smears of shimmering sunshine avant-pop. There are also a few winks of the massive drum/guitar dualism for which Abronia is known. But most of this tape explores previously unvisited sonic regions.
The High Desert Sessions’s first side offers a relatively unhurried flow, the flip has more squirrely segmentation, but it’s all cool as hell. And heard as a whole, it may augur some new points-of-interest that Abronia might be visiting in the future. Or not. Because that is the nature of experimentation. But it’s very hep to have this aural peek into their ongoing process. Especially because it all sounds great.
Can’t wait for the next album!
1. Moving Furniture 2. Thrushes 3. No Time for a Fire 4. Rough Eyed J.E.R.K.S. 5. Open the Door for Water 6. Winged Seeds 7. Rolling Mass 8. Target Practice 9. Barely a Season 10. Liar 11. Artemisia 12. Hot Spirits
Posted in Questionnaire on March 21st, 2023 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: Henry Bennett of ZONG
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
As a band, I guess we jam and write as a way to express ourselves and have fun. We often jam in a fairly open, improvised fashion, no expectations or judgements.
Our music has no vocals so it’s a real sonic “experiencial” type journey. I think it’s a way for us to tune out of everyday life. Similar in a lot of ways to trippin’ balls!
The three of us connect on a pretty unique musical level so I think it’s very satisfying for us to create & express “in the moment”. It can be meditative.
It’s also enjoyable to then be able to share that with others who also connect on the same level.
Describe your first musical memory.
Listening to Led Zeppelin in the car with mum!
Describe your best musical memory to date.
First thing to come to mind… Tripping to Ash Ra Tempel with my brother many years ago was pretty wild!
Seeing Black Sabbath live for their final tour here in Aus was very cool too. :)
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
Can’t think of any but probably too often.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
As a whole, hopefully to some sort of social, political, cultural & ultimately evolutionary progress.
How do you define success?
Subjective to the individual and comes in many forms. The important one must be happiness for humans as a whole?
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
My parents having sex comes to mind… but to be honest I’m not too bothered.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
In musical terms we have always wanted to create an animated film/ album combo. Like Pink Floyd The Wall. Or at least an animated film clip would be dope!
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
Hmmmm … to conjure thought? to express? … to just be?
I think anything more than that is probably getting too specific.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
Spending time with my partner and my dog this holidays. :)
Upupayāma releases its sophomore LP, The Golden Pond, on Nov. 4 through Cardinal Fuzz and Centripetal Force. The band — and it’s a full enough sound to be regarded as one, despite the singularity of personnel — is a freak-fuzz-folk project of Parma, Italy’s Alessio Ferrari, and from the opener/longest track (immediate points) “Cuckoos From the House of Golden Tin” moving from nature sounds and sparse guitar into an all-out fuzzblast, and then back again, to the sun-coated Dead Meadow-but-even-mellower pastoralia of “Come Here, Noriko,” to the experimentalism of “Ergobando” or the time-for-an-acid-drench of the penultimate “Sata Me Pani” (premiering below), the procession of tracks is never predictable but united through immersive qualities. That is to say, where Ferrari leads, it’s a whole lot of fun to follow.
This is supposed to be a simple preorder announcement — and, yes, preorder links are below — but as you consider “Sata Me Pani” on the player that follows with all the PR wire info underneath, consider as well the acoustic-Zeppelin turn of “Entering the Time of Wilderness,” which soon twists itself around a gleefully 1968 psych rock guitar lead, shifting into “Más” and its cumbia-informed boogie. In some ways, the songs feel manifested from their own vibe — of course “At the Fairie Bower” has a flute, and so on — but even if Ferrari didn’t know quite where a given piece might end up when he started out putting it together, the end result is not unconsidered or haphazard in any way. If anything, the fact that he’s on his own here speaks to the depth of thought put into each arrangement, from the lullaby guitar and subtle drums before the Westernized raga in “El Sueño de la Curandera” to the lysergic folk dance of “Ballad of the Mugho” at the finish.
Take some time to dig into “Sata Me Pani” but understand that it’s not the sum total of everything The Golden Pond has to offer. Upupayāma touches on various folk traditions and unites them largely around its psychedelic center, making sure that wherever in the world the songs might travel, they’re duly otherworldly for the going. If you can get your head in it, it’s not a journey you’ll regret taking.
The 2021 self-titled debut is also being re-pressed (that’s streaming at the bottom of the post), as noted below, but before you get there and click off and about your busy day, take a listen to “Sata Me Pani” and see where you end up. If you have a second to leave a comment, I’d especially love to know where this one takes you. Thanks, in any case.
What has already been a busy second half of 2022 for both Centripetal Force and Cardinal Fuzz reaches a crescendo on November 4th with the much anticipated release of Upupayāma’s second album, The Golden Pond, as well as the vinyl reissue of the band’s debut 2020 release. Upupayāma dropped the album’s first single “Más” back in August, a fiercely driven piece of modern day kosmische worthy of all the Can comparisons it received.
The second single from The Golden Pond is “Sata me Pani.” The song takes a decisively different direction and highlights Upupayāma’s more heady and introspective tendencies, while also showcasing some serious raga-like influences and well-restrained fuzz-laden breakouts.
For those unfamiliar, Upupayāma is the musical persona of Alessio Ferrari, an Italian multi-instrumentalist and songwriter who lives in a small mountain village above the city of Parma. Upupayāma’s music is rooted strongly in Eastern and Western folk traditions, an approach that Ferrari blends with his own modern sensibilities and style, not to mention his tendency to incorporate invented language into his lyrics and singing.
Preorders for the vinyl editions of The Golden Pond, as well as Upupayāma’s out-of-print debut, are going up for sale this Friday, October 21st via Centripetal Force and Cardinal Fuzz.
