(photo by Abbey Braden)
Recorded in the dankest, darkest outcove of a Southwestern desert abode, a secret splinter group of renegade shaman's induldge in some ayahuasca, grab a few broken instruments (remnants from former settlers, long since gone after the great cliff massacre of 2009) and take a stab at pop music. The ayahuasca rolls like a venomous twister, swaying thoughts between horrifying and magical, and generating enough electricity to bring cave-paintings to life. "The Void" is the aftermath; hazy and beat-up, introspective and drained, its psycho-active balladry encompasses a thousand trips, here and fro, and a longing for the next.(removed)
While AC and Grouper were both phenomenal last night, the highlight of my evening may have come before the show when I noticed that Animal Collective was selling Kria Brekkan's Wildering 7" alongside their own merch and a bunch of Grouper vinyl. (If you are heading to upcoming shows, be sure to snag the Pumice split, I can't believe it's still available.) For a long time now I have been under the impression that this limited run single was long out of print, so finding it for 5 bucks at a former shipping terminal in the absolute middle of nowhere Manhattan was quite a pleasant surprise. Like much of Kria's work, Wildering plays like a black lullaby from a decrepit, abandoned old barn, where a young orphan girl lives with a family of mice, subsiding only on bread, water and worms. The sound of the wind in the house is like her dead parent's voices and often comes clattering in from the cold shore, shaking windows and making the floor boards creak an unsavory creak. Often horrifying, the young orphan girl takes comfort in the company of her rodent friends, who bundle crumbs for her and make sure not to naw away at her only blanket.
(photo by rezflicks)
(photo by maeversification)
As if you needed another reason, this is why Twitter is great. Robin Pecknold tweets "Silver Dagger / Wild Mountain Thyme http://is.gd/inf2" and we get two new songs from the Fleet Foxes/White Antelope. "Silver Dagger" is a fine example of Pecknold channeling Dylan the storyteller, the Blood on the Tracks/Desire-era Dylan, where stories were the center of the song, rather than just a mere aspect of them. Pecknold really hits this one on the money. The other new treat is "Wild Mountain Thyme", which is basically a Jackson Browne-CSNY-Laurel Canyon dream come true. Hit the MySpace asap.
(photo by YiiioiiiY P)
(photo by georgia.kral)
(photo by c89)
Brooklyn based avant-chanteuse Julianna Barwick, whose Sanguine LP and Daytrotter session are consistently on heavy rotation in my bedroom, just released a new EP available on eMusic. Entitled Florine, the 24 minute mini-album is a continuation of the breathy soundscapes and hypnotizing loops Barwick has been experimenting with for years, helping dough eyed boys and girls get lost in the ether, as if transcending space & time were an every day occurrence. Florine suggests that purgatorial visits, spirit reunions and time-traveling might actually be daily activities for Ms. Barwick, who has the uncanny ability to lull listeners into a semi-conscious daze, making one feel that even at our most hyper-aware we are still half asleep.
Mort just stumbled upon this banging mix of retro-disco on Beat Electric, which is most the spot if you're into obscure disco and other crazy ass old-school dance ish. As may you be able to guess from his name, producer Gino Soccio, who is actually Canadian, could be described as Giorgio Moroder's "less robotic" brother. The A-side of Dance Exercise Music, which was actually released as a workout comp, features three of Soccio's biggest hits, including "Dancer", which could rage a sorority slumber party as hard as it would a K-fueled warehouse party in Bushwick. My only complaint about this mix is that its thirteen minutes go by way too quickly. Recommened for anyone with an urge to get busy on the dancefloor.
With the thermometer hitting upwards of 85 in Greenpoint the past two weekends, it's safe to say that Summer is almost here. It's also safe to say that you can find me in the park, chilling with friends, soaking up sun and drinking Margarita's in styrofoam cups from the Turkey's Nest. My advice with this mix; burn a copy to CD, then transfer that CD to Maxell XL-II, pop it into your Radio Raheem-esque boom box, pick up a blanket and go lay out in your neighborhood park. Bring booze. Smokes. Buy an ice cream. (or Italian ice.) Stop being so pale.
Details on this are incredibly scarce, but BLEEP has page in its catalog for Moth/Wolf Club, a collaboration between mega-producers Four Tet (aka Kieren Hebden) and British dub-step luminary Burial. According to BLEEP, the vinyl was available for pre-order beginning 4/5/09 and is already "out of stock." A Google search didn't yield much, except for an equally as info-less catalog post on htfr.com. Here is all the info we've got so far on what is sure to be one of the year's most enlightening collabo's. A split release shrouded in darkness (hence the artwork, no sales notes, no audio, no promos). Just a solitary twelve, two sides crafted by two of the most innovative producers of the last twenty years, Burial and Four Tet... Essential Purchase never sounded so right.(via BLEEP)
One of my favorite shows of 2008 was the Kria Brekkan-Ólöf Arnalds performance at the Lutheran Church of the Messiah in Greenpoint. While Kria's improvisational, tape-centric piano ambiance was absolutely gorgeous, Arnalds, who, up until that point, I'd only known through her work with Mum, treated the seated audience to a beautiful set of Icelandic lullaby's and hushed ballads. The gig was so intimate that Arnalds actually breastfed her son, who had been crying all night, on stage in order to get him to calm down. Surely one of the cutest, albeit most bizarre moments I've ever witnessed at a concert, the real highlight, one which I repeatedly come back to, was "Klara", a lullaby that Arnalds wrote for her sister.
A radiant morning sun is shining through my window. My Weather Bug iPhone tells me its currently 48 degrees in Greenpoint. The high is 60, the low 44. Juana Molina's last live radio performace on the BBC's Radio 3 is filling my bedroom with a radiance that can only be described, for better or worse, as "magical." It's alluring, seductive, mezmerizing, in your face and, at the same time, incredibly simple. I picture Juana sitting Indian-style in a park in Buenos Aires, flicking dandelions and teaching lady bugs to fly. She stands up, and miraculously floats above the ground, her feet a mere inch above the tallest piece of grass in the park. She pulls a yellow balloon out of her pocket, inflates it and continues float-walking. The balloon pulls her upward, upward and away from the ground. She's smiling, a big kid smile, mud and chocolate smeared across her face. People below watch her drift away, slowly, until she is just a speck in the sky, a molecule.
