#thrill jockey

[dustedmagazine]

SUMAC — The Healer (Thrill Jockey)

Photo by Nate Newton

The Healer is an ambitiously heavy sort of moniker to lay on a record — if not a presumptuous one. But if any band can match up to those implied ambitions and that variety of heavy, it’s SUMAC. Certainly it’s the case that SUMAC’s idiosyncratic synthesis of improvisation and metal’s ultimate worship of the riff has unusual power: frequently their playing cracks open new spaces, full of violent suffering and meditative dispassion, those disparate affects sometimes simultaneously present. When a new SUMAC record appears, you sort of know that’s coming. The experience is still unexpectedly transporting when it envelopes you. Is that healing?

Likely that’s up to the listener and the listener’s needs. For sure The Healer feels like a complement — if not an extension — of SUMAC’s previous LP May You Be Held. In my review of that record, I noted the ways in which it seemed invested in the concept of ritual and experience of catharsis. The Healer is even more insistent: note the record title’s indication of purification and rejuvenation; note also that one of the songs is titled “New Rite.” All those signs and symbols accumulate. The band seems to want its audience to go through something profound, and to come out the other side changed for the better.

Despite the strong thematic ties between the records, The Healer operates according to a differing formal logic. May You Be Held was blisteringly volatile: songs slowly fought their ways towards conventional structures; held themselves together, sometimes briefly; then exploded and disarticulated, into sheets of emotionally charged noise. On The Healer, players Aaron Turner, Brian Cook and Nick Yacyshyn pursue what feels like an opposing set of tactics: the songs want to cohere, to assume those conventional forms from the jump, and SUMAC holds that off as long as possible, stubbornly following intuitions until the riffs and rhythms can no longer be denied.

Listeners wanting a somewhat more traditional metal record experience may find those tactics more comfortable to engage. Listeners wanting a SUMAC record will be happy to know that the band’s tendencies toward intuitive sonic conflagration are not entirely domesticated: see the incendiary second half of “Yellow Dawn” or the driving middle section of “New Rite.” Some lyrics from that latter song capture the record’s general effects: “In tumult, mind carried / Thought obscured / Inlets to flowering expanse.”

That may be too rosy a picture. Not all ears will find a “flowering expanse” in these moody, doomy performances. Album closer “The Stone’s Turn” explores especially forbidding sonic terrain through its opening passages, an evocation of the “tumult” invoked just above. But around the sixth minute, a melodic element begins to shape the thunderous noise, and while the storm moves in and out of the song’s unstable center, the shaping impulse never completely cedes to the chaos. At one point, Turner howls, “Now hands may rest / On gentle skin / Held.” The implied reference to the earlier record’s title feels purposeful, and soon Turner sings, “Licked by golden flame / We are remade.” That seems a fitting metaphorical account of SUMAC’s ideas of healing, ritual and music. Harsh, but beautiful. Bruising, but full of care. It’s a really good record.

Jonathan Shaw

[goodbysunball]

The hard blues

Perfect timing, right in the midst of list season. There's a lot waiting in the queue, though these records seem to have made the most impact. More in the line soon, a bunch of 7"s and cassettes and maybe a few more LPs, and eventually the obligatory look back. Mounds of plastic await:::

Anadol & Marie Klock, La Grande Accumulation LP (Pingipung)

Debut collaboration between Turkey's Anadol and France's Marie Klock, and it's an inspired one. I was familiar with Anadol's work from two prior LPs, but Marie Klock's intentionally absurd, voluble electronic music I've only recently discovered. On La Grande Accumulation, Anadol's kosmische-jazz comfortably sidles alongside Marie Klock's mostly spoken, sometimes sung stream of consciousness vocals, and the effect is deliciously intoxicating. Sometimes MK swims against the current of the music, as on the opening title track, and sometimes the pattering drums and synths pull her in, resulting in the bangin' disco-lite of "Sirop Amer (La Goule)" or the chanson-meets-giallo soundtrack on "Sonate Au Jambon." The first five tracks glide almost frictionlessly despite the sometimes frantic sing-speaking, but the final track throws a wrench into the proceedings, something that happens on every Anadol album (check out "Adieu" on Uzun Havalar, for example) and almost undoubtedly welcomed by Marie Klock. "La Reine Des Bordels" begins innocently enough in washes of synthesizer, but shifts into a double-timed square dance, then blaring ominous church organ music, and finally a demented waltz, Marie Klock breathlessly covering the proceedings throughout. It's sort of a fitting end to the record, something jarring to tie together a record which at points can feel like an ASMR exercise and even meditative. Gotten a whole lot of mileage out of La Grande Accumulation, a record greater than the sum of its parts, immediately satisfying without sacrificing the avantgarde leanings of its makers.

Bilders, Dustbin of Empathy LP (Grapefruit/Sophomore Lounge)

Patois Counselors, Limited Sphere LP (ever/never)

Rarely bundle reviews together but these two seem of a piece. Both are loquacious, expansive, lyrics-first records, and both artists have graduated from biting, angular post-punk to a more relaxed sound. 

Bill Direen's long-running Bilders dropped an LP and cassette this year, and he seems to have found the sweet spot between the songs and the poetry presented in recent live performances. The band backing up Bill on Dustbin of Empathy mirrors, catches and gets out of the way of his vocals, their music consisting mostly of brushed drums, softly strummed guitars and the occasional keyboard or organ. At first blush it's almost definitely too slight to appeal to a broader crowd, but Bill Direen is nothing if not a captivating showman and engrossing storyteller. His lyrics cast a wide net, spanning the globe and touching on war, age and morality with the light, deft touch enabled by his 60-some odd years of life experience. His delivery is usually muted, but he occasionally breaks out a caricature or odd pronunciation, as on "Scaribus" or "Caprice and Nemesis," and "Obedience" is as worked up as he allows himself to get. Direen's lyrics feel wise and matter-of-fact, and are unobtrusively slipped in, like the lines "Some voices I will never hear again/Did not live, as long as I do" leading off "Comrades." As a good documentarian, the facts are presented but the margins are, inevitably, colored in with his own feelings. Repeat listens turn up more lyrical gems, and in the end Dustbin emerges as a quiet triumph against the attention economy.

Patois Counselors' Bo White possesses a similarly keen, sharp eye for detail, and if anything Limited Sphere seems to partially claw back any notion of "skewering" detected on previous PC records. There's a sense that White is equally charmed, intrigued and bewitched by the ecosystem of any given local underground arts scene, including the outsized forces restricting and suffocating them. The band plays things with a softer touch and wider palette, ending up somewhere like The Art of Walking-era Pere Ubu crossed with the National's quieter moments across Alligator and Boxer (see: "Fountains of UHF" or "Wrong Department"). The drumming across Limited Sphere is the engine, crisp and busy, deftly navigating and directing sheets of guitar, synths, woodwinds and piano throughout. White's low, nasally delivery make the lyrics tough to make out at first, but the utterance of "Is this what we like?" on "Accoutrement" feels apropos to a world ever more excited by Spotify Wrapped. More natural and less tense than The Optimal Seat, Limited Sphere feels like a collection of short stories, the complex-yet-smooth music a Trojan horse for Bo White's lyrics to be fed inside your skull, lingering and rattling for weeks. Sounds like homework to some, but I'll happily be revisiting, untangling and piecing together Limited Sphere for months.

The Body, The Crying Out of Things LP (Thrill Jockey)

A new LP by the Body, sans official collaborators, is generally a shoo-in for mention as one of the best records of the year around these parts. But, to be fair, the last few "solo" records on Thrill Jockey feel somewhat uneven with age. The most recent, the torrential grey-out of I've Seen All I Need to See, felt like the serpent eating its own tail, a powerful but defeatingly cynical record that seemed to serve as an endpoint. After a number of collaborations, the band returns and sounds refreshed, even bright amidst its shockwave-emitting cymbal crashes and tortured howls. There is a clarity across The Crying Out of Things not heard since I Shall Die Here, resulting in a lean 36 minutes that flies by, dexterously shifting between hard, distorted beats, mantle-cracking chords and samples caked in static. While it's hard to improve upon a track like "End of Line," the Body's contributors more than leave their mark: Ben Eberle's searing vocal contributions feel especially caustic on "Removal," and the back half of "The Building" bursts through Felicia Chen's quietly powerful turn in a way the trio didn't really allow themselves on Orchards of a Futile Heaven. Things still feel dark and cavernous, at times even bleak, but the overall effect is that of the band blasting down walls and letting some light slip in. As usual, the duo turns in one of the best records of the year, but this time it feels invigorating, a call to arms or at the very least a shot in one. If you're unfamiliar, here's your entry point.

Dead Door Unit, Abandon CD (Tribe Tapes)

I last checked in with Philly's Dead Door Unit (one K. Geiger) back in 2022 with Laugh at the Devil, a more than compelling suite of creaking, looping noise in the vein of Modern Jester as I recall, but this year's Abandon is on a whole 'nother level. On Abandon, Geiger's not necessarily shedding the influence of Dilloway, Hanson Records and any number of Midwestern noiseniks, but using it instead as a jumping off point to create these lingering, unsettling long-form tracks. Some in-track transitions, especially on "Clutter (Until the Flies Gather)," can unintentionally jar the listener from a trance, and the relative dearth of blistering noise across most of the CD may leave some looking elsewhere. But if you strap in for the duration, the album becomes increasingly engaging from start to finish. Somewhere between the last few minutes of "Christmas Alley" and the beginning of “Windmill Hypnosis” is where the immersion begins, and the looping, chattering, scratching noise begins to induce either a fight-or-flight response or a sort of fever dream, the listener wrapped up in isolation by sweltering noise. Occasionally the music startles and sears, like the first third of "She Knows How to Reach Us," but Geiger uses the remainder of the track to masterfully pull apart that noxious cloud of static and slowly put it back together again. The one-two of "She Knows" followed by the lonesome piano loops on "Melrose (Street of Dreams)" is one of the high points for my listening this year, a real trip within 26 minutes that's surprisingly affecting by its end. Abandon is a towering, lengthy statement, but one that signals Dead Door Unit's arrival as a potentially generational talent.

Die Verlierer, Notausgang LP (Bretford/Mangel)

Leather jacket garage rock is usually something that I avoid, unless, apparently, it's delivered in a different language. Those Pierre & Bastien LPs still hold up, and now Germany's Die Verlierer deliver another strong take on their second LP, Notausgang. The record, completely sung-shouted in German, also sports a perfect crunchy-warm vintage production, yet still raw enough to generate friction. Tracks like "Das Gift," "Attentat" and "Adrenalin" capably rip, but the production makes the songs feel like some recently unearthed singles from the late '70s/early '80s. Better yet is when the band keeps the intensity but practices restraint with the guitars: the motor-mouthed vocals carry "Allesfresser," which already sounds like a future classic, and the raw "Made / D.M.A.IP" oughta kill live. Notausgang delves even further, slowing things down and drawing in the listener on the tense title track, and even throwing a day-dreamy guitar line into the languid "Stacheldraht," one of the best songs here. The track sequencing is a bit jarring, especially across the first three tracks, but that's a criticism that doesn't hold a lot of water for music best experienced in person. Works in the recorded setting, too, and I'm still a little surprised how much Notausgang was and continues to be played this year. Die Verlierer's open-ended approach to scuzzy rock 'n roll very much transcends the notion of a Crime cosplay act, resulting in a more restrained, durable record that appears primed to reward for years to come. Killer cover art, too.

Septage, Septic Worship (Intolerant Spree of Infesting Forms) LP (Me Saco Un Ojo)

Denmark's gore-obsessed death metal trio Septage returns after two solid EPs to drop a full-length, one that's completely mowed down expectations. A lot of death metal fixated on gore, or merging with goregrind, can safely be dismissed. Too often the bands are trying too hard to be the sonic equivalent of a shocking B-movie horror film, or often even worse. Septic Worship nimbly sidesteps that trap, and delivers 20 minutes of blistering and crushing takes on goregrind without taking itself too seriously. The respective barrages that open up each side of the record are hair-raising, teeth-clenching moments, and from there the record's sides glide from full-on grind to lumbering death metal drops with ease. "Emetic Rites," which opens up the second side, packs everything Septage does so well in just over two minutes, though almost 2/3 of the tracks are left smoldering within 90 seconds, which makes differentiating songs a real challenge. It's not like you put on something like Septage to analyze the nine seconds of "Septic Septic," though; it's there to blast the cobwebs out, chip a tooth or two, and help you come out on the other side reinvigorated, if a bit raw. This is easily my favorite metal or metal-adjacent record of the year, an uncompromising yet ridiculously fun record. Clearly the lyrics out this as something not necessarily apropos to the moment, but Septic Worship is powerful enough to drown out the constant buzzing, grandstanding and distracting faux-outrage that makes up 90% of modern existence. Consider it a bit of self-preservation in an absolutely mad world, or just strap in and let it knock you around - either way, it's a strong antidote to endless doom scrolling and pointless anger.

[mixtapemag]

CLAIRE ROUSAY AT THE ROTUNDA.

Photos by Christopher Hall

Claire Rousay is playing in her room. Songs from Claire's new album Sentiment wrap the bedroom walls in sound, the amp in the corner vibrating the makeshift nightstand.

It was one of the most intimate and recognizable performances I've seen - shoes at the foot of the bed, a magazine on the lip of the mattress that will fall to floor tonight, memories and premonitions tacked to the walls. The hum of Claire's voice. It's emo, it's pop music. The idea of creating art under your bedsheets is as relatable as the sun rising each morning. I'd like to photograph every Claire Rousay performance until the end of time, just to see the moments pass in that room, the new noise being heard from the street through the open window. A truly monumental live show.

Claire brings her bedroom to Europe starting tomorrow in Amsterdam. Go see her show.

Check out Sentiment and everything else about Claire Rousay over here.

Christopher Hall posts over here. It's running.

[zef-zef]

Album Art for:

Lightning Bolt - Sonic Citadel (Thrill Jockey, 2019)

[iamlisteningto]

claire rousay’s sentiment

[musicollage]

The Sea And Cake — The Fawn. 1997 : Thrill Jockey.

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[beginningspod]

It's time for Beginnings, the podcast where writer and performer Andy Beckerman talks to the comedians, writers, filmmakers and musicians he admires about their earliest creative experiences and the numerous ways in which a creative life can unfold.

On today's episode, I talk to musician and composer Rob Mazurek. Originally from Jersey City, Rob started playing trumpet and cornet in high school after his family moved to Naperville, Illinois. He first learned the foundations of improvised music while studying jazz theory and practice with David Bloom at the Bloom School of Jazz in Chicago, and then became a mainstay of Chicago jazz in the 1980s. In 1994, Rob formed the Chicago Underground Collective with guitarist Jeff Parker and a cast of revolving players, which in turn birthed Isotope 217, both groups releasing albums on the seminal label Thrill Jockey. In the decades since then, Rob founded the Exploding Star Orchestra, has earned numerous commissions and awards, and in general has created more music and art than a short bio can properly elucidate. Earlier this spring, Rob's most recent work for Exploding Star Orchestra, Lightning Dreamers, was released on International Anthem, and like everything else Rob creates, it's wonderful!

I'm on Twitter here and you can get the show with:

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[skatemerit]

average junglist

[august-sysex]

colleen - subterranean - movement II (2023)

[buellerismyfriend]

[dustedmagazine]

Myriam Gendron — Mayday (Feeding Tube/Thrill Jockey)

Photo by Justine Latour

Quebecois folk singer Myriam Gendron is far from the first artist to turn in some demos expecting them to serve as a rough draft, only to decide that the results stand on their own. Since that debut collection of Dorothy Parker’s poetry set to music (2014’s Not So Deep as a Well), Gendron’s only put out one further record (2021’s justly attention-getting collection Ma Delire: Songs of Love Lost and Found), but she’s been busy with literally life and death. It was only after having kids and then putting together Ma Delire that Gendron really started touring consistently, and then that was sadly halted because of her mother’s sickness and eventual death. That experience informs Mayday, an album of firsts for Gendron; first more traditionally “studio” recording, first time she’s made her music her day job, and first time she’s written most of the songs herself. Despite all those changes, though, Mayday is just as exceptional, intimate, and timeless feeling as anything Gendron’s done before.

On Ma Delire Gendron brought in Bill Nace and Chris Corsano for a song apiece; here she widens and deepens her net (and Nace is back too). A mutual admiration society between her and justly-lauded performers Marisa Anderson and Jim White resulted in the three working together on three songs here, about a third of the total running time. The results are stunning; Anderson and White have worked together to great effect before and Gendron’s richly crestfallen voice fits in perfectly, whether the duo are calm and reflective on “Long Way Home,” foreboding and restless on “Terres Brûlées” (with Nace), or exploratory and elegiac on “Lully Lullay.” The former two also feature Cedric Dind-Lavoie on double bass, and it’s hard not to wish for more from that particular grouping.

That’s not because the rest of Mayday is lacking, though. Gendron eases the listener in with the Fahey-homaging instrumental “There Is No East or West,” and although the title references a gospel song, here it seems to speak more to the feelings of doubt, uncertainty, and grief that course through Gendron’s songs. Whether adapting Parker again on “Dorothy’s Blues,” turning out gemlike instrumentals like “La Luz,” or leaning into the soaring sadness of “Look Down That Lonesome Road,” Gendron continues to be a singular voice (figuratively and literally).

The title of the closing “Berceuse” translates to “Lullaby,” and gentle tone and lyrics match. Until Zoh Amba’s saxophone squeals surge in, playing the track off as Gendron’s electric guitar slowly gets quieter. It’s a striking moment, and after a few listens on that it’s hard to imagine the song and the album without, as if the messiness of life is bursting in to remind us why we need to sing children to sleep in the first place. As always, the beauty of Gendron’s music feels both hard fought and carefully wrought, something worth sharing and protecting.

Ian Mathers

[goodbysunball]

In the summer dust

Live from June 2023, already, and still steadily accumulating plastic to shield me from the sun. Here are four more things you can listen to instead of Elon Musk and four more things you can buy instead of groceries. Crank 'em 'til that stomach rumble is drowned out.

BIG|BRAVE, nature morte LP (Thrill Jockey)

Their lineup now solidified over the course of the past few records, BIG|BRAVE picks up right where they left off on 2021's underrated Vital with nature morte. The record snaps open with Robin Wattie's vocals, and it's a harbinger of things to come: she's solidly up front flexing her vocal range, seemingly more confident and in control than ever. While still glacial and capable of whittling rock to dust, nature morte feels more accessible, in part due to Wattie's performance, but the guitars are more airy, allowing the soft, bright colors of the cover to bleed into the performance. There's an actual groove at the midpoint of "carvers, farriers and knaves," and my favorite track, "the one who bornes a weary load," begins with the post-rock atmosphere by way of '00s screamo. Of course, the band's bread and butter is still this absolutely crushing, cavernous one- or two-chord riff augmented by feedback, crashing drums and Wattie's vocals elevating to a full-on roar; they just utilize it more sparingly. What else has changed over the last two albums is how the band approaches the build-up to these climaxes, and how they can sound as disciplined as they do unpredictable. On "the fable of subjugation," for example, the band leads you face-first into a cold metal wall after the relatively calm textural intro, an un-subtle reminder to stay focused. When the loud part kicks in on "a parable of trusting," it almost sounds like vintage BIG|BRAVE until the guitar chords start to meander and sway, a simple and unbearably powerful show of restraint amidst the onslaught. This is a room-flattening/room-silencing record, the quiet parts captivating and the loud parts leaving craters behind when they strike. But in other ways, this feels like the band becoming more comfortable and confident expressing through texture and mood. To me, the trajectory of BIG|BRAVE feels much like Thou's over their first few years (from Tyrant to Summit, for instance), in that the two groups remained as heavy as ever while becoming more interested in creating an atmosphere, and not just churning endlessly in the sludge-y murk. I'm not big on where Thou went with their sound in recent years, and it could be that BIG|BRAVE is heading down a similar path; but for now, I'll enjoy nature morte and the sound of a band at the peak of their powers.

Disintegration, Time Moves For Me 12" (Feel It)

Fantastic debut from this new Cleveland trio, featuring the inimitable Haley Himiko from Pleasure Leftists, as well as Noah Anthony (Profligate), and Christopher Brown from Cloud Nothings. Disintegration operates in this darkwave/almost-EBM space, and it's solid ground for Himiko to sway and prowl over. The title track has her absolutely going off over an arpeggiated beat, and the acrobatics she pulls out on the chorus hit home every time. The slower tempo of "Carry With You" is another showcase for her vocal range; the combination of the heavy backbeat's gravity and the chopped treated vocals sounds like the track's being pulled under by its own weight. The record closes with "Make a Wish," which sounds like it could've almost been on the last Pleasure Leftists album, Himiko's vocals soaring over the airy, slicing backing track. The four tracks here are over too fast, an almost cruel tease; even "Hit the Face," the only track not to feature Himiko's vocals, connects on some animal level and gets the knees pumping and neck twisting, the coda not nearly long enough. Highest recommendation; please invite me to any party that's gonna be blasting tracks from this 12".

Glittering Insects, s/t LP (Mind Meld)

Total Punk sub-label Mind Meld is back with a vengeance this year, releasing a new Lavender Flu 12" and this debut Glittering Insects LP. The band features vets from Atlanta's underground: Greg King, Ryan Bell and Josh Feigert, who have recording solo and in bands like GG King, Uniform, Predator, etc. Can't say I'm all that familiar with any of their previous output, though it's been in my periphery for years. In any case, none of that prepared me for how powerful the meeting of the minds would be on Glittering Insects. This is very scuzzy, satisfying Am Rep or Dino Jr.-style rock with flecks of black metal ("Kratom Portal," "Calcified Time") and plenty of noise obscuring the vocals and the ground. The first five tracks, from the caustic noise of "Nuclear Rivers" to the tremolo-picking overlaying creaky keyboards on "Labyrinth Funnel," set the stage for what's to come, which is basically a survey of guitar rock from the past 30 years or so. The second track, "Silent Dream," is my favorite song of the year so far. The main riff gets stuck in my head for days at a time, and the slyly catchy vocal melody just barely pokes out amidst the din. Elsewhere, the band churns out menacing noise rock on "Peatgurgling"; attempts a Rudimentary Peni impression on "Obscure World After Death"; and reaches guitar worship heights currently only achievable by Cheater Slicks on the instrumental "Glittering Insects." My very minor quibble would be that "Dream Journal 12/8/21" doesn't quite fit and kicks me out of the dusty, thrilling orbit the rest of the record pulls me into, seeming much less complete than the rest of the album's tracks. It's just about the shortest track, and had I not listened to Glittering Insects many times over already, I probably wouldn't think to mention it. No matter - this is some real deal, clenched teeth exhilaration, a tour de force with the chops, energy and just the right amount of reverence to match its ambition.

HUH, You Don't Need Magic LP (An'archives)

An'archives has been busy the past few years, selecting the Japanese sub-underground sounds that pass muster and bringing them to the masses in beautiful editions. HUH is yet another new-to-me outfit, though apparently they've been around since 2007. The duo of Kyosuke Terada and Takuma Mori is based around guitar and drums, it sounds like, but there's a healthy dollop of electronics (as there must be) and warped, free vocalizations. If that sounds like Lightning Bolt to you, you're in the ballpark, but the band more often goes for low density: stretching out slow, twisted grooves ("Greenish Fog In You") or restrained relative calm recorded by haunted equipment ("Lousy Smirky," which kinda sounds like it could've fit on Sharpen Your Teeth). There are a couple freak-outs that show HUH paying fealty to their Rhode Island forebears, of course - go no further than the raucous "Spilled Beer" for your fix. What's more interesting is that there is a palpable joy on You Don't Need Magic; one that, to me, rarely comes across on most guitar-drum duo records. They emphasize exuberance over aggression, appear to harness the complete freedom from expectation, and possess the wordless communication between two musicians operating on a plane above most. You Don't Need Magic impresses on a number of levels, and if the way "Bitter Summer" rips apart at the halfway point to close out the album doesn't have you flipping the record over for more - you may need magic.

[lesdeuxmuses]

Rhyton - Rython (Thrill Jockey, 2012)

[zef-zef]

The Body & OAA - Miserable Freedom from: The Body & OAA - Enemy of Love (Thrill Jockey, 2022)

[mymelodic-chapel]

Wooden Shjips- Vol. 2 [Compilation] (Psychedelic Rock, Neo-Psychedelia, Space Rock Revival) Released: March 30, 2010 [Holy Mountain Records/ Thrill Jockey/ Sick Thirst Records] Producer(s): Wooden Shjips