What is it with Iceland? You can blame the unending winter nights, glaciers and treelessness all you like, but it’s still hard to credit a single place with producing such consistently otherworldly music. Where, for example, are the Icelandic skate-punks, boybands, and insipid R’n’B divas? It’s an odd state of affairs, but not one to complain about, as long as they keep giving us artists like Ölvis.

Based on the evidence of this, his second album, Ölvis (aka Orlygur Thor Orlygsson) seems less self-conscious than some of his peers, and perhaps a little less fearful of referencing more traditional folk and rock forms without first distorting them beyond recognition. There is little in the way of gibberish wailing, and effects are employed with sensitivity, rather than smothering the music to death in a ham-fisted attempt at creating atmosphere. There’s not much electronic twiddling either, save some minimal organ sounds. Where the likes of Sigur Ros (some members of which guest on this album) pretend to be ghosts, the music on this record seems very much of this Earth. Or, at least, a slightly out-of-focus Earth, endlessly looping the sun with a melancholy inevitability, expressed in psychedelic lounge-folk music.

If there is criticism to be leveled, it is that there’s very little variation to be had over The Blue Sound‘s eleven tracks. It’s perhaps best to take it as a single, lengthy piece, divided into sections that are easily digested on their own, should the mood take you, rather than impose upon it high expectations of excitement. Once you’ve sampled the first couple of tunes, you should have a reasonable grasp of what the rest of the album is going to be like, and whether it is, or is not, for you. However, to these ears, at least, it’s gently refreshing, and I would urge you to try it on your own.

Resonant

It’s hard to know exactly what superlatives to use to adequately review this album. Snowblood are a band from Glasgow and this is their second album, barely a year since their debut. But how far they’ve come on. In the space of eight tracks spanning just over an hour, they finally manage to match the intensity of their live appearance (recently glimpsed in a full-blooded tour of these isles) and give notice of their likelihood of becoming one of the UK’s most interesting and aurally satisfying bands currently operating.

Snowblood are one of an increasingly bountiful crop of bands exploring the space between ridiculously heavy metal music and the more minimalist and experimental side of “post-rock”. That is, their contemporaries can be named as bands such as Isis, Pelican, Mono (or even Botch and Converge) and how many other million bands that seem to be emerging from the woodwork of late, but comparisons to these fuckos hardly seems fair. To start with, each of these bands I have mentioned have always seemed to run out of interesting ideas (or if you’re Mono, never actually started out with any). What sets Snowblood apart for me personally at least is the fact that they are not afraid to keep pushing at any kind of normal expectations. You might read this, listen and draw comparisons to Neurosis, but it’s not like that’s a bad thing. And this is one hell of a sophomore album from a young and exciting band.

The album’s first two tracks are both sparse and quiet, creating a real sense of foreboding that manages to be earnest without being embarrassing, and when the crushing riffs finally crack open the sky and descend the power of their rage really is affecting. I don’t know how they’ve done it, but somehow Snowblood manage to keep this mood up for an hour without falling into the trap of coming across as po-faced. For someone as jaded as myself, it really is hearteningly sincere and all the for better for having the gall to be so. What’s even better is that they’re not all just foreboding and looming catharsis. Though the epic tracks – such as the all-conquering ‘Black Stars Over Glasgow’ – are probably the main thing to get all hot under the collar about, the unexpected thrashout of ‘The Year of the Bastard’ and some lovely mucking around with textures and sounds throughout the record are what makes “Being and Becoming” so compelling a listen for me.

A quick mention that this CD will also be coming out as a double LP on heavyweight 180gm vinyl in a very limited edition of 500, which I would thoroughly recommend splashing out on.

www.snowblood.com

Sweaty, dumb and vacuous fun – Influx are fit to burst with ambition.

Their recent single ‘I Got Held Up…’ finds the band apparently fired up by secrets, lies and traffic. Oh the complicated joys of car ownership and dating. A not bad effort, it doesn’t shine as brightly as the band achingly want it too.

B-Side ‘When It Got Light’ is a much closer realisation of the band’s strengths. Fast, vital, but still rough round the edges, it is the soundtrack to the best half-remembered great lads nights out. It is (almost) as satisfying as getting off your face, stopping your mate starting a fight he couldn’t finish and falling in love with your best friend all over again.

Influx

As far as explorations of sound and spontaneous music go right now Volcano the Bear are where it’s at.
For this album VtB are a duo, the songs recorded at various different venues in early 2004.
What grabs me most?
Rhythm.
Yes, sounds shift in and out of focus as you might expect with this kind of music – atmospheres drift, there are vocal yelps and sighs punctuating animal asides – there are even what appears to be the occassional lyrical structure.
And it’s all being underpinned by rhythm pure and simple.
Sometimes it’s tribal tinged, sometimes it reminds me of no-one other than The Shaggs.
And it’s so damn refreshing.
I like Hans Benninck of course.
I like improvised drums that rumble and shout and fall over and make you laugh or frown or cover your ears, but sometimes that’s just wandering in the darkness.
I’m not sure exactly what it is I’m trying to get at except that this is spontaneous music that drives like rock’n’roll and WE ALL LOVE rock’n’roll.
Did I mention wandering in the darkness?
This album is blazing in the light.

These guys hail from Canada though as soon as the s-l-o-o-o-o-w opening track, “The Large Glass” starts you’d swear they lived in the swampy deep south of the USA.
I guess that’s not such a strange thing when you consider it – Cajun music and the music of French-Canada must have roots in some pretty similar history.
If I’m missing something obvious here please let me know.
Anyhow, I digress.
Mon Electric Bijou then make some good, sturdy, less-chords-is-more rock’n’roll.
There’s some nice vocal harmonies going on too. Just enough to add flavour rather than showmanship.
I’m not making much sense am I?
Let’s try again. The nearest comparison that springs to mind is the Magic Numbers though that’s based solely on the one song I’ve heard by that particular musical unit.
I’m listening to the record for the first time as I type this and the further into the album I get the more I like the understated nature of it all.
Any of the songs on this record could be BIG rock numbers but MeB hold back in just the right ways. The bass is nicely overdriven – just enough to create some dirt without becoming dingy. The guitars are all recorded pretty clean but still they rock.
You know what? I think I like this.
Buy one from them I guess: www.monelectricbijou.com

Now this is where it’s at.
I know absolutely nothing about Like a Stuntman – I’ve not bothered googling them even. I don’t really care about the details.
All I know is that this is an astonishing record.
Let’s get the usual lazy journo nonsense out of the way: Like a Stuntman nod towards Pavement circa “Brighten the Corners”, but it’s only a nod. There’s so much more.
The opening song, “We’re not in Brazil”, comes over all post rock tunefulness. It’s playful, the lyrics daubed across the melody like a Jackson Pollock (Jeez, look at me coming over all pretentious!), a good song.
But then it does something interesting.
There appears to be a glitch-core geek hiding in the corners of the studio feeding everything the band does through his little laptop and messing with it.
While ‘the guys’ play on this nerd breaks everything up with clicks and splutters and IT WORKS!
This album then is the sound of Pavement at their most avant or Gastr at their most tuneful mixed by someone who prefers Ratser-Noton releases to anything that’s ever come out on Drag City.
Further into the album the glitch takes over.
For a short time, as on “Kingkongs”, the nerd seems to be winning the fight only to have control wrestled back by the band.
I don’t want to find out more about Like a Stuntman.
I want to carry on believing that after recording, the band hunted their studio space for the little sod who fucked everything up.

With this sharp, stylish and dark collection of techno-house Simon Heartfield has produced a record to be proud of. With splintered confidence Permanent Way provides an atmospheric journey through backstreets, basements and bedsits. At times haunting, at others exhilarating, the listener is treated to a story of restlessness and resentment, told only through textured beats and buried samples.

Mixing elements of break beat, electro, house, techno and punk Heartfield has produced dance music that is very much of the moment. There are flashes of retro house that take me back to basement raves I’ve never been to alongside outstanding fractured drum patterns that I expect to be dancing to in the near future.

seatmanblisterhfield
Hackpen Records

I can’t play any musical instruments. I quite fancied learning to play the drums but as the few lessons I took gave me earache I quickly realised that I was not destined for a career in percussion. At school I had to take up the recorder and keyboards for a short period of time but I showed no flair for either (unless you counted being able to play the recorder through your nose a talent). I was told that I couldn’t sing when I tried out for my school’s yearly musical, ending my career in musical theatre before it could begin.

All the while I’ve still thought ‘I could do that’ when I’ve heard the likes of Mylo, Fat Boy Slim or Moby on the radio. I’m much more computer literate than musically gifted and I guess I’ve had an unfounded suspicion that I could knock up a half decent tune if I had the right software.

It sounds like Arsey Rob has had a similar suspicion and has produced an album that he imagines to be much more than half decent. I will have to disagree and say that on the whole listening to Stole My Girlfriend is as exciting as watching a film you’ve already seen too many times before and you didn’t much like it the first time either.

When done well electronica can seem blindingly simple and life enriching, or at least fun to dance to. Arsey Rob Stole My Girlfriend isn’t even half way there. This record makes me realise that making fun and exciting music on a computer must be harder than playing a recorder with your nose.

arseyrob
beerglass records

I’m only partway through the second track, but this is already probably my favourite album of the year [I wonder how many more times I’ll say that before January? I’m impressionable and I have a short attention span]. Take the warmest, fuzziest, poppiest bits of My Bloody Valentine, Pale Saints, Ecstasy Of Saint Theresa, Velvet Underground, Jesus & Mary Chain, Telescopes, Spacemen 3, all the people that Dead Meadow are ripping off, add some fjords, glaciers and funny accents, and you have absolute pop perfection. Is it original? Of course not. Does it matter? Hell no. Suddenly it’s 1988 all over again, and that, as far I’m aware, is a good thing.

Back when I was 12, my sister was a big fan of Erasure. Her vinyl copy of The Circus came with a Mute Records discography (Documentary Evidence), and it was a revelation to me, full of impenetrably pretentious, mysterious descriptions of strange and sinister electronic music – Einstürzende Neubauten, DAF, Boyd Rice, Throbbing Gristle, Fad Gadget, Renegade Soundwave etc. I spent hours poring over it, trying to image what these things sounded like. Months later, I almost had a cardiac arrest when I found a copy of one of the things I’d been reading about, Holger Hiller’s 1983 album Ein Bündel Fäulnis in der Grube, at a carboot sale for 50p. Having spent my life up to that point listening to chart pop and my dad’s Johnny Cash records, this was something weird and new – a glimpse into a skewed, alien and impish world that I didn’t fully understand.

East London based duo Asja Auf Capri’s debut from last year, Novi Ronde, takes me right back to that time, to the joy of mischievously twisted electronics, itchy rhythms and an exciting hint of taboo. And of course, the fact that both works have German language vocals helps.

The album kicks off with the deliciously insistent Chanson Risk, previously featured on Difficult Fun’s first release, a wonderfully packaged 4 track 7″ of DIY difficult fun. It’s a great start – twitchy, fidgety, old-school electronics and subtly processed, whispery-then-chanting vocals. Happily, the quality is maintained throughout. There’s plenty of variety in the music too, with all sorts of bleeps, bloops, squelches and clangs going off to underpin Anja’s singing. It’s all done with a fantastic sense of playfulness and yet, brilliantly, without getting anywhere near that enemy of good music, novelty. After the wonderful bongo-on-Mars claustrophobia of Prairie, the albums finishes with the riotous knees-up wig-out of Brandstifter. It’s the happy younger sibling to Laub’s more considered, deadpan approach to electronica. It’s how smug, half-baked charlatans like Chicks On Speed and Cobra Killer ought to sound.

Anja had apparently never sung before recording the album (and hadn’t even shown much inclination to do so), but she’s an incredible talent. By turns pouty, sly, cheeky, forthright, mysterious. Translated lyrics are available online, but I’ve so far deliberately avoided reading them because I enjoy the sound they make without having to worry about meaning. Not formidably difficult, then, but certainly lots of fun.

Asja Auf Capri
Difficult Fun