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ALBUM OF THE WEEK

Various Artists – Gonzo Goa: Party Music 87-94 (Sound Metaphors)

Trance has undeniably wedged itself back into the dance music discourse in recent years. It seems a certain generation of acolytes have reached the age of influence and rekindled the music of their youth, meaning you can hear searing saw leads riding atop pulverising big room techno as much as trippy, playful synth gurgles worming their ways around tech-house beats, right through to slow n’ low-throbbing acid freak outs with a mystical tint keeping the chug-loving crowd grinding their hips. In some areas this renaissance feels innately aligned with big business, and trance – in the European, Frankfurt-rooted sense of the word – has generally been big business. But like house music, techno, footwork, dubstep and all the other phenomena, the origins of trance didn’t have a name – it was a case of the music that fit a very specific need for particular people in a particular place.

In the sleeve notes for Gonzo Goa: Party Music 87-94, Ray Castle outlines how electronic music bedded in to soundtrack hedonistic all-night parties in Goa in the 80s, evolving out of the hippie culture and strongly drawing on the sensation of the setting to require a very particular kind of track. Any DJ worth their salt knows how much a particular place can draw together an unlikely combination of tracks, and Goa was a common denominator for all sorts of strange synth-pop B sides, industrial outliers, wrong-speed discoveries and Euro disco accidents. This melange was forming its own identity in tandem with the cosmic disco phenomenon spearheaded by Daniele Baldelli, Beppe Loda et al and the Balearic moment taking place in Ibiza. The spirit of the DJs was the same, combing through all electronic or groove-oriented music available at the time to find those magic gems to suit the transcendental dancefloors they played to.

It’s no wonder that a genre took shape from the sensorial overload of the early Goa sound – a sound you can hear faithfully documented by the likes of Dave Mothersole with his Unveiling The Secret: The Roots of Trance mix and tape rips of pioneers like the French DJ Laurent. Although traces of synth-pop are still lingering over the selection on Gonzo Goa, for the most part the sound feels more fully realised. The earliest track, Chris & Cosey’s ‘Exotika’ from 1987, is incongruous as a slightly cheekier, spikier kind of beat track compared to the druggy throb heard elsewhere, while Public Relation’s ‘Eighty Eight (88)’ has the hallmark thrust of new beat, but already the house music age is wreaking its influence and everything points to a more consistent pulse than an unlikely matching of disparate styles. The leap from Public Relation to DJ Dag’s seminal 1992 meditation as Peyote, ‘Alcataraz’, doesn’t feel all that dramatic.

As such, Gonzo Goa hangs together surprisingly coherently, offering a snapshot of proto-trance burners instilled with the mystical magic of the parties they soundtracked. To read about that moment in dance music history from any of those lucky enough to be there, and to soak up the hypnagogic, metronomic dosage from any one of these tracks, it’s hard not to be transported into those humid, tropical parties.

The idealism of the scene is easy to discern in Zen’s ‘Solar Data’ (the Extended Tribal Mix, naturally), which offers the kind of ethno-spiritual prog which in most instances is banal to the point of being offensive, but feels like a trigger for true out of body ecstasy in the considered context. Likewise Francesco Farfa’s ‘Beat Control’, a 1993 cut, basically lays out the blueprint for trance in its bubbling arpeggios and laconic filter sweeping, but it clings to the shadows and smoke machines, never quite opening the filters so wide as to let the saccharine elements in.

It’s a fine line between visionary and vapid, and perhaps out of context some of these tracks wouldn’t get away without some degree of criticism, but here they paint a picture of intrepid dancefloor utopia with all its grubby imperfections, drawing above all else on the importance of vibe.

OW

BC Camplight – The Last Rotation Of Earth (Bella Union)

Brian “BC Camplight” Christinzio is one unlucky chap. Dropped from an early record deal, he spiralled out of control with drink, drugs and mental health issues before picking himself up, decamping from Philadelphia to Manchester from where he served up his third album, 2015’s How To Die In The North. Seemingly back on track, he was promptly deported for outstaying his visa days before the album’s release. Still, it was good inspiration for 2018’s Deportation Blues, which was released just as his dad died. Completing his “Manchester Trilogy”, 2020’s Shortly After Takeoff, which charts his breakdown following his father’s death, came out as Covid shut down the world.

“I can’t wait to make an album that isn’t surrounded by some awful tragedy,” he half-joked at the time. You know what’s coming don’t you? The Last Rotation Of Earth is totally “surrounded by some awful tragedy”. It’s the break-up album. And the end of a long-term relationship at that. The girl he moved to Manchester to find. The life partner. “A document created in the shadow of incredible darkness,” he calls it. Yikes.

The title track opens proceedings and finds BC wallowing deep in what his last day on earth might look like – not that you’d know from the lyrics. “What a beautiful morning I say to the Tesco guy,” he sings as the melody soars like a plane. Not one deporting him this time. BC talks of making songs like little films, with conversational dialogue, which is especially effective on ‘The Movie’, which features what is, apparently, an excruciating verbatim exchange.

The bouncy synthpop of ‘Kicking Up A Fuss’ is his conceit that the whole thing might be too gloomy. It’s about watching David Dickenson’s ‘Real Deal’ in a “fleabag joint” and wondering how you got there when you spot a man about to jump off a roof. His last day on earth.

And that’s being cheery. Which of course is the winning charm of BC Camplight. As painful as it is, ‘The Last Rotation Of Earth’ feels somehow life-affirming. Musically it flies – ‘Fear: Life In A Dozen Years’ is absolutely enormous, that snarly guitar riff, the sky-high melody, it’s like late-period Floyd meets John Grant. The dark humour at work is delicious. You have love the line in ‘She’s Gone Cold’ that goes: “She asks what we’re building, I say ‘What do you think this is, ‘Homes Under The Hammer’?”. And then there’s ‘It Never Rains In Manchester’, a knowing title if ever there was.

You wish BC Camplight well, the man deserves a break, but like all the great tortured souls, he’s an artist making hay while the rain pours. When it’s this good, let it rain.

NM

Tigerbalm – International Love Affair Remixes (Ubiquity)

Rose Robinson has delivered plenty of memorable moments via her Tigerbalm project. After impressing with her Leng Recordings debut in 2020, her first solo album arrived two years later and was every bit as alluring as her early promise suggested it would be. Here, Ubiquity Records draft in a genuinely dazzling ensemble of remix artists to offer respective takes on ’International Love Affair’ highlights, and, between them, they each do marvellous work with their distinct revisions. Deep-digging German duo Session Victim are first to the plate, serving a percussion-heavy rework of ‘Cocktail D’Amour’ complete with poignant chords and dream-inducing motifs.

Elegant but weighted, it sets the tone for the varied blends that follow. Trepanado’s remix of ‘Riad De Lister’ lets the quirky vocal take centre stage, with rhythm and bass driving the charming lead over stripped instrumentation. Le Rubrique adds equal measures of electro-house swagger and psychedelic glitter over ‘Bahia Escapista’, before Chico Mann layers the celestial melodies of ‘Cosmic Camel’ over crisp drums and sturdy bass. Isaac Soto takes an altogether more sinister turn on a nocturnally-charged rework on ‘La Brisa’, while Tulshi serves a club-focused take on the rap-infused flex of Tokyo Business.

The always-on-form Emperor Machine arrives with a sublime interpretation of ‘Riad De Lister’, with freaky synth lines darting over trademark analogue bass. Cosmic, funky and just a little deviant, it’s a masterful piece of work. We’re treated to a trio of remixes from refined Italian producers from here on out, with Daniele Baldelli and Marco Dionigi kicking off the peninsula-based artist’s input.

The duo take ‘Tokyo Business’ deep into the sleaze, with throbbing bass, crisp drums and space-age synths adding abundant atmosphere to power the erotically-charged vocal. Mystic Jungle then reworks ‘Cosmic Camel’ into an Afro-cosmic disco frenzy, with lively instrumentation gorgeously entwined over dusty drums as the sing-along vocal soars. Finally, Mushrooms Project go super deep, twisting ‘Cocktail D’Amore’ into a wonderfully aberrant late-night joyride, with wiggy textures bursting through the endless mist as hypnotic rhythms power the groove. 

PC

Drain – Living Proof (Epitaph)

Few acts in the modern hardcore scene have garnered the level of hype and praise awarded to Santa Cruz outfit Drain, who made a vital impact on their 2020 debut full-length California Cursed. Known for their intense live performances, the unfortunate timing of their first LP dropping in the midst of lockdown appeared to only hinder the group briefly, as internal hysteria grew rife within a community spinning the short 10-track 22-minute project ad nauseam, whilst pining to hear the material in a live setting.

By the time the group were road ready, they’d already made the illustrious jump from veteran hardcore label Revelation (already a marked sign of their affirmation) to Epitaph, seemingly paving the way for a promising future. Apart from the release of the single ‘Watch You Burn’ to usher in their new label home, things remained relatively quiet on the band’s sunny beach front aesthetic, with many sitting on their ready to spin hands for news of an official sophomore effort.

Over three years since the release of their remarkable debut, Living Proof breathes it’s apt title with a venomous barrage of crossover thrash indebted hardcore fury. Clocking in at a reliably succinct 25 minutes, this is a pristine example of the all killer no filler addage, as from the snarling shriek of frontman Sammy Ciaramitaro on blistering opener ‘Run Your Luck’, the momentum only cascades atop itself like King Kong bounding his way up skyscrapers.

Complete with 80’s thrash worship riffage, a perplexing yet endlessly entertaining trap interlude courtesy of Shakewell, and a surprisingly faithful rendition of Descendents pop-punk anthem ‘Good Good Things’ (possibly hinting at more melodious tendencies further out on the creative horizon), the band pack an immense bevy of variety into the tight project. The finest moments still naturally occur in the bruising hardcore cuts that envelop the majority of the runtime. ‘FTS (KYS)’ is a two-step marathon while the unhinged thrashcore pummel and contagious bounce of ‘Evil Finds Light’ signals both a refinement in craft and a confident levelling up of all individual strengths, while Ciaramitaro’s howling animated delivery juxtaposed with genuine weariness and anxiety strikes an ideal balance between expression and catharsis.

Even the utterly unhinged ‘Weight of the World’ details the stresses that come with the group’s newfound success and hectic lifestyle, while the closing title-track serves as a hardcore self-help lecture, declaring that any personal goals are achievable, with the resulting album acting as living proof. Drummer Tim Flegal even has the gall to lock in a cowbell underneath the trudging groove, just for that extra sprinkle of panache Drain deliver to the formula so effortlessly. 

Following a phenomenal debut dropped in the middle of worldwide lockdown, a label shift and a somewhat lengthy three-year gap between LPs, Drain eclipse all of their initial promise on a lazer focused, energetic, emotive and endlessly entertaining sophomore work designed and destined to catapult them even higher up the echelons of the hardcore maelstrom. In short, Drain are the real deal. This is simply living proof. 

ZB

Welcome Strawberry – Welcome Strawberry (Cherub Dream)

The uptick in music fans escaping into the bliss of Californian shoegaze may or may not be a symptom of how sick the world is, but that isn’t going to stop Oakland newcomers Welcome Strawberry for a second. Their self-titled debut album, coming out on the now-no-longer-considered-to-be-retrograde format of cassette (but also digital), is here. 

This is an album on which the songs apparently “grow like flowers”; “you water them or let them wilt”. We like the thought: when met with such immersive sound, you can choose either to let go, plunging your senses into it – or you can hang back, refusing to indulge. Both paths yield different results. For example, the lilting slow-strum of ‘You In Your Rare Ugliness’ benefits the former approach, on which you can barely hear the lyrics unless you really tend to your cochleal garden, really listen: “I can’t say I’m surprised, it never works, but nothing much else does…” What about these lyrics, though?

They waft off a nihilistic mood, suggesting it might not matter if you listen deeply or not. Other brasher cuts like ‘No One Online’ owe more to harder, legacy acts like MBV, and reward the latter approach; the track’s got far fewer great wash-walls of chord than headbangy riffs.

Note: rather than being a release “under” or “by” a record label, this is considered a “co-release” with Too Good To Be True. We like this: it seems to admit that artists today have far less to owe to their seeming musical feudal lords. Who knew the bright sparks of the oncoming open-source musical revolution would be the shoegazers?

JIJ

Chat Pile – Tenkiller (Soundtrack) (The Flenser) 

In the past year, Oklahoma sludge indebted noise-rock outfit Chat Pile have gone from underground favourites to one of the most critically acclaimed and discussed acts in modern heavy music. Following two seminal EPs, their debut full-length God’s Country saw the four-piece wind up on a myriad of differing end of year lists, thanks in no small part to the group’s horrific ability to conjure utter dread through their down-tuned grooves and frontman Raygun Busch (likely not his real name), who weaves first-~
+person narratives detailing everything from drug addiction and homelessness to full embodiments of serial killers and horror film characters.

It’s rather fitting then that the band would reveal that before even beginning to craft their disturbing debut that they had scored an indie horror film titled Tenkiller in the winter of 2020, long before any of the absurd hype circled their name. Vocalist Busch would even star in the project which released this year, while the members were quick to point out that this is not their second album nor an accurate reflection of where they will take their sound on LP2.

Apart from the menacing and subdued title-track serving as the only familiar sounding cut, this instrumental collection utilises all of the members’ understanding of caustic industrial sonics to piece together an anxiety-inducing score. From walls of blistering nightmare noise on ‘Dad’s Drunk’ to the folk-horror country twang of ‘Lake Time (Mr. Rodan)’, the Tenkiller soundtrack provides a fascinating curveball to the Chat Pile formula, redirecting their strengths into uncharted yet eerily suitable territory. Where they go from here is anyone’s guess, but few can argue with the unique and prolific approach which this group has taken to the extreme metal scene, and proves testament to the mass levels of hype they continue to attract. 

ZB

J-Shadow – The End Of All Physical Form (Sneaker Social Club)

In five years J-Shadow has quietly amassed a sizeable body of work, navigating the fractured bassweight landscape with an amorphous style as comfortable dissolving techno boundaries as exploring needlepoint footwork. As last year’s debut LP Final Departure demonstrated, he’s an artist who seems to suit the long player as a vessel for deeper exploration, and he’s more than seized the opportunity presented by a quick follow-up on Sneaker Social Club.

While an ambient opening track can spell any number of directions for an album, it’s clear by the time ‘Exuinia’ hits its stride we’re in for a hi-tech, long distance trip. Both dank for the soundsystem and sprightly in its uptempo patterns, this is a kind of psychedelic futurism for those curious about where electronic music could head next. It’s absolutely physical, but unbound by tired, thudding laws about what makes people move. The soundscape quality to the production suggests Shadow’s worked with headphone trippers in mind, but there’s all the energy and presence required for a real world dancehall deployment.

The future shocks simply unfold one after another from there, as flickering shards of rave, footwork and techno flirt with each other. It’s the deftness of touch which makes J-Shadow’s tracks so fascinating, even when shelling down blasts of bass and breaks. Nothing feels lumpen or nihilistic, looking ahead to the future with a clear mind, carrying the torch for past soundsystem forms without being cloistered by them.

OW

Karate – Unsolved (Numero Group)

Now reissued via Numero, Karate’s Unsolved is a lesser known indie album by a band with a sad story. First forming in Boston, MA in 1993, the three-piece ‘indie jazz’ group (truly, they live up to the coinage) enjoyed something close to 15 years of quasi-underground stardom, before its founding member Geoff Farina had to disband the group after developing hearing problems. 

Nothing lasts forever. It’s just as well, as the mid-career LP Unsolved signals its temporality well before hitting play. The minimal montagey front cover recalls similar front cover art from the time (2000), like that for Radiohead’s Kid A. Meanwhile, diving in, we hear a sound that predates many of the popular trailblazers in the now just-as-popular genre of ‘indie jazz’. Karate are like an early hybrid of Vulfpeck and Acetone, if you will: noodly guitar breakdowns of the proggy variety tend to come both before hurt vocal whimpers and tearjerking chord progressions later on.

The bluesy headroom and arpy grunge licks of ‘Small Fires’ nod to Midwestern emo or slowcore. Meanwhile, honest, unrestrained vocal performances at once recall the vulnerable lyrics of Mark Kozelek in Red House Painters, and/or Sue Tompkins’ cryptics in Life Without Buildings. Concepts of the cerebral, like “the over-educated sublime” (‘The Halo Of The Strange’), and the divine – “the angels just have to show fairness” (‘The Angels Just Have To Show’) – are both mulled over. The overall mood is that of reckoning with time and hoping luck takes your side; if you let this album in, maybe it’ll help you muster up enough optimism to pass the time of life with hope in your heart.

JIJ

Iguana Death Cult – Echo Palace (Innovative Leisure)

Iguana Death Cult return with a third album that’s very much a product of their native Rotterdam. A city that doesn’t, and in many ways can’t, shout at the same volume as Amsterdam, nevertheless once you touch down at the local airport or step off a train at Centraal it takes about three seconds to realise this is a place that has multiple layers ready to be unpeeled, and enough depth in each one to keep you occupied for quite some time. And then start planning for a return visit.

Echo Palace builds on an already established reputation for great rock ’n’ roll songwriting, informed by garage, psyche, No Wave, and baggy indie, and there are so many references to make in terms of who they might compare to it’s almost counterproductive. Hues of The Clash, subtle nods to Django Django, those who can’t hear Talking Heads or Parquet Courts are either deaf or lying to themselves. Despite these clear influences, though, IDC can never be labelled as pastiche or imitators. Simply put, there’s so much authenticity here it’s hard not to find yourself falling pretty heavily for this lot, their deft combination of freshness and familiarity is immediate yet compelling.

MH

This week’s reviewers: Neil Mason, Martin Hewitt, Zach Buggy, Jude Iago James, Patrizio Cavaliere, Oli Warwick.