Reviews of (legitimately) free netlabel and/or Creative Commons music. Yes, the music is completely free. Yes, the musicians know. Yes, they welcome donations and purchases. No, you won't be arrested. Dive in.
In their more spiteful moments, people who hate folk music dream of the day when nasal-voiced troubadours do a Hendrix and set fire to their mandolins. With Burn, the second track of his unpredictable UV EP, Matthew Stenning almost grants a few wishes by deciding that the perfect percussive accompaniment to a lilting guitar riff is... a box of matches and a lighter. Ah, electronica: musical pyromaniacs sneer at all other genres.
The very nicely handled percussion is soon joined by a phasing pad, another stringed instrument, lashings of reverb, a reversed tape effect, an engaged telephone tone, a Moogish synth, a bit of looping and a complete non-sequitur of an ending: a ringing telephone. All this should sound like a dog's breakfast (by the way, has anyone ever heard a dog's breakfast?) but Mr Stenning, a UK-based producer, knits it together with aplomb. (Has anyone ever seen a plomb?)
Anyway, I hope the first appearance at CTW of Typepad's ugly, life-draining media player doesn't spoil your enjoyment of this lovely example of folky electronica:
If you liked it, good news: the Creative Commons music world knows full well that there are six more imaginative tracks to be heard on the UV EP, hosted at the excellent, sadly expired but joyfully ransackable Plainaudio netlabel. Now you know too.
UV - The UV EP (link to individual tracks and zipped album)
It's a mystery to me how Luxus-Arctica netlabel managed to take this photo of CTW's reception suite. The guards tell me that the CCTV footage went offline at a crucial moment. The only physical evidence of their break-in was the hundreds of dead starlings in the street below. Strange.
It won't have escaped your attention that computer wizardry is rampaging through electronica, IDM, minimal and hip-hop, where it's common for percussion one-shots and layered synths to be sampled and chopped to death, but I remain surprised by how relatively few artists delight in mangling acoustic instruments and "found" sounds. There's a delicious, malicious joy to be had in hearing a familiar and/or traditional sound getting kicked up the backside by music software.
I imagine that Erik Nilsson must wear a virtual pair of hobnailed boots as he stomps around Stockholm, because the eight marvellous tracks that constitute his restrained, gentle and ingenious Recollage are an acoustic mangler's delight; he makes the old-fashioned sound delightfully modern. Peruse the back cover of his album and you'll find the following:
Recollage is a development of simple musical elements and ideas towards greater complexity and richness of detail using real and sampled instruments, assorted acoustic sounds, and synthesizers & audio manipulation techniques.
Honestly, I don't know why I bother. How am I supposed to waffle on at (very great) length about records if the musicians have already written a cogent summary of said album and, what's more, in better English than yours truly can muster? What a cheek.
The opener, Into Motion, uses a sneaky compositional trick - one used to great effect by Trentemøller on Take Me Into Your Skin - whereby various elements are added one by one to create a wall of sound that, at the crescendo, drops away completely to be replaced by a quiet, fast-paced rhythm. The unexpected dynamics will tug at your ears. The track is an enticing blend of upbeat, sparkling guitar, somnolent piano/harpsichord and some ambient excursions. Its cheerful and gentle soundscape will perhaps remind readers of another Luxus-Arctica album, Global by The Lights Galaxia, reviewed here.
Timepiece features a grandfather clock's two-note chime up front and centre (and slightly too loud, methinks). I doubt whether the clockmaker would approve of how Mr Nilsson makes it repeat, stutter and pan all over the place, but I approve of the mangling, especially when it's accompanied by a gently picked acoustic guitar, a cut-and-paste harmonica and ambient crackles.
The first thirty seconds of Rumore del Roma explain why this album is such a treat for the ears: you'll hear a ghostly piano; the distant wailing of guitar feedback; a chopped and reversed bit of sound; cheerful guitar strumming; the dusty pops and grumbling of old vinyl; and the creaking of an unoiled door hinge that slurs and slows down into a snare drum roll that kicks off some semi-distorted, mandolin-backed trip-hop. There's also a violin stuffed in there somewhere, courtesy of Sofie Louzou. Phew. Then, after a couple of minutes of pleasurable head-nodding, most of the sounds fade away until only the ghostly, plaintive piano can be faintly heard on the right-hand side of the stereo field. A few bars later, it's joined by a toy-like xylophone, only this can be heard up close and on the left. It's the thoughtful treatment of such ostensibly simple elements that make the album a pleasure to hear. Try it yourself:
Erik Nilsson - Rumore del Roma
No, wait. You can't. Luxus-Arctica is like America's Liberty Bell: an inspiring symbol of independence that can't make a sound because it's cracked. L-A will give you the whole album free of charge but won't supply links to individual tracks. *bites knuckles, screams* Gentlemen, please rethink your policy.
Allow CTW to flex its mighty muscles. *thump* *yell* *bash* Got it. God, I'm good. Let's try again:
15 Minutes of Boredom might be retitled as 2 Minutes, 15 Seconds of Bewilderment. I can't explain how such diverse elements as movie dialogue, a repitched, reversed and disrespected guitar riff, heavy breathing, a high-passed filter sweep (and the occasional interjection of Fred Astaire's name) can in any shape or form constitute music; but they do. Hands up who would like to see Erik Nilsson's workflow. Yes, me too. Ableton or Logic or Cubase and an MPC, do you think? Knowing my luck, it's probably done with witchcraft, beer and Lego.
I rather like the compressed story that can be inferred from a song called Old Piano/Bad Back. What's even more likeable are the ticking clock intro, the fluttering flute, various ominous thumps and scrapes, a thoroughly unsettling vocalised noise and, best of all, the appearance of a slide guitar redolent of Ry Cooder's soundtrack to Paris, Texas. (A quick aside - we Creative Commons music fans, though fans of electronica, minimal, etc., are starved of guitar music. Please, riffers of the world, unite: you have nothing to lose but your mullets.) It's a slow, solemn, piece of ambient electronica until someone whispers "Let's go!" in your left ear, and the guitars get up off their porch seats to welcome the arrival of a kick drum. All of a sudden, the piece transmutes into neo-Hillbilly and threatens to get epic. Disappointingly, it goes back into its shell soon afterwards, but it's still a terrific track.
There's a similar flirtation with grandiosity in the title track, Recollage. It starts with manipulated kitchenware samples (I'm fond of how the sharpening of a knife doubles as a very lazy hi-hat), a fuzzy bass, inoffensive guitar doodlings, and a door opening and closing; it continues with a beautifully apt Moog-like synth, an upright piano and a not-so-happily-mixed snare drum; and it threatens to break out into a sweeping piece of Kate Bushness before fading to an ambient burble.
To my mind, the ghosts of Kate Bush (consider the gentle tempo, the mandolin and the sample of a cocking rifle in her Army Dreamers) and Pink Floyd flit in and out of some of these tracks. I get a Floydian tang from the mournful, descending guitar and bass lines to Tail Lights; as the tempo picks up and morphs into light rock, one half expects some Roger Waters kill-yourself-now-because-life-is-a-cosmic-joke lyrics and a searing guitar solo from Dave Gilmour. Instead, the track shies away from the bombastic and stays true to the album's intimate milieu with some subdued glitching.
Finally, imagine you're ten years old and have just got your hands on your first guitar. It's a clapped-out acoustic, half the strings are missing and those that remain are tired, saggy and barely in tune. Then imagine that you've just learned to play a riff that reminds you of Marc Bolan's T-Rex and, pleased with yourself, you play it repeatedly. Your pre-pubertal friends form a rhythm section by slapping cardboard boxes and bending rulers on table edges. Welcome to the first half of the pertinently-named Little Demon. Spent, you stop playing only to hear music floating across the road from that creepy house with the drawn curtains. It's barely audible but it's definitely someone playing a spooky motif on an ambient pad preset over and over again. Welcome to the coda of Little Demon.
Surprisingly, this album reminds me of, would you believe it, the ghost stories of M.R. James, which often tease their overly logical Edwardian protagonists by suggesting that there is something disturbing lurking over the brow of the next hill - if only they care to look. Thanks to his harnessing of modern techniques to long-familiar sounds, and the inclusion of the odd gasp, wheeze, scrape and scratch, Mr Nilsson's work shares the same ambivalent qualities. Indeed, I hope I'm not doing him a disservice by suggesting that parts of his album would do very well as soundtracks to James's tales.
If you fall in love with Recollage, please remember to send a "thank you" email/cash/eye of newt and toe of frog to the talented Erik Nilsson and the estimable, double-barrelled Luxus-Arctica netlabel.
Listening to the various tracks from a newly-discovered good album is like seeing familiar numbers pop up in the first few seconds of a national lottery draw. The first appearance is pleasing and so is the second; the third gives you a sense of satisfaction and achievement; two more good ones appear and you jump on your chair; one more pops up and you scream at the TV/stereo/neighbourhood that you'll devote your life to living in a huge chateau others less fortunate than you if the last two numbers are the ones you want. If you're like me, you'll end up with a lingering sense of the futility of life and a muddy sofa. But fear not - at least CTW has some free CC music for you to hear after you've stopped shaking your fists at fickle Fate.
Your post-lottery placebo takes the form of Bu-Bu-Bubbles by Foam, an English musician about whom I know little, for which I blame Wikileaks. If only he'd insulted a potenate or two.
There aren't many traditional musical elements (melody, harmony, development) herein. The eight tracks might best be described as beatless minimal and melodic ambient; parts of it are certainly experimental. Foam has a habit of combining featherlight tics and swirls with knocks and bangs that push up hard against loudspeaker cones. The good news is that his productions skills make his EP a palatable listen.
I'll start with the album's seventh track, Widget, because I'm a hip-swinging mo-fo who can't count. The first thirty seconds of Widget are nigh-on silent; the next minute consists of a metallic sound (the widget?) carrying out Chinese water torture (not quite the same as American waterboarding, my pedantic and politically correct chums) on the listener's frontal lobes before an answering beep pans back and forth. The only other element is a lo-fi organ sound that plays a couple of chords before the track (and the listener's lust for life) peters out. I've decided via a process of elimination that it's an experimental meditative piece - because you certainly can't whistle it, sing it or dance to it. (And I'm running out of brackets.)
Next up is a new piece of technology that will augment the planet's already over-intrusive surveillance systems. Gum is full of synths that are pitched so high and, towards the end of the track, become so shrill that only people under forty will be able to hear them. If you can't hear them, you're too old or a Motorhead fan or you play banging techno in your tarted-up hatchback. Or all three. I'd like to see that Venn diagram.
That's got the two most challenging tracks out of the way. You'll have noticed, particularly with Gum, that the sound quality is superb. So it is with the first track on the album, Day-To-Day, where the toy-like sound of a looping nine-note melody forms a musical backbone, around which is wrapped Geiger Counter-ish glitches, and percussive one-shots that sound like out-takes from Wall-E. It's a happy track.
Crab Attack is not a musical description of a naval doctor's waiting room on a Monday morning. Instead, you'll be faced with low-passed, bubbling sine waves, noises reminiscent of a fridge that's been left open, and some glitchy percussion that Riverdances right up against your eardrums.
The two minutes of Trouble remind me of the relentless music used to brainwash Michael Caine in The Ipcress File. Play it while switching your kitchen lights on and off and the reverberating, ambient washes will have you under the KGB's thumb in no time. By the way, Caine + 1960s + John Barry are widely acknowledged as a very good thing indeed. Resistance is futile: you're now under Jeff Bezos's thumb.
Bumbleebee is the type of track that's starting to pop up on the soundtracks of indie puzzle games: a half-formed melody from an inoffensive synth with lots of glitches and bells popping up now and then to keep you awake. Like many such tracks, they will burble away in the background so that you can concentrate on other matters - but if you sit down and listen to them, they will mesmerise.
I've left Offthesky's remix of Madness until last to reward your perseverance. It improves on the well-built but bland original (think Jane Russell) by blending minimal with ambient to become something more enticing (think Sophia Loren). Your clapped-out Nokia/it-looked-ok-in-the-catalogue Panasonic/of-course-I-didn't-mortgage-the-house Bang & Olufsen will enjoy it.
I must explain to the trendier of my listeners that Archipel netlabel released Bu-Bu-Bubbles when wing collars and monocles were the height of fashion. My apologies to the label (and its enlightened policy of making their commercial albums available for free after a few months on sale) for taking so long to leave the Sea of Despond, crawl onto the beach, walk upright and develop ears.
I've tagged the album as "experimental" because CTW doesn't have a paradoxical category. There aren't many albums that could be described as "easy to listen to" but not "easy listening". Foam has a spiritual, transcendent quality. If you're looking for a non-theological musical path to spirituality/nirvana/chocolate/becoming a hipster emo, you could do a lot worse than listen to Bu-Bu-Bubbles, contemplate the ineluctable modalities of life and wonder whether it might help to use a different set of lottery numbers next week. Or you could send a thank-you email to Archipel or - the horror! the horror! - buy one of their commercial albums.
Regular readers of dusty old CTW know what to expect: (ir)regular reviews of free CC/netlabel albums, leavened with poor jokes and even worse grammar. It's rare that your humble scribe deigns to describe anything so ephemeral, so lightweight, so throw-a-bag-of-kittens-in-the-canal as a single track. But I do do it occasionally.
Today's internet eructation was prompted by my stumbling across a video made by Eirik Solheim, a project manager for the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation (NRK), who is very enthusiastic about technology, photography, and, in the most entertaining and truthful phrase that I've read this week, "stuff that I find important."
Anyway, he has made One Year In Two Minutes, which could be described as a nigh-on perfect ambient video, the ne plus ultra of everyday sights and sounds, or even the cappuccino venti of coffees if you're into using corporate drinks-vending metaphors. Mr Solheim visited the English Park in Oslo weekly for a year, snapped some photos and then compiled them ingeniously with Photoshop and Final Cut Express to produce a seamless and bladder-looseningly beautiful two-minute film of nature getting up for work and coming home to bed. The lovely visuals are accompanied by a truly ambient soundtrack recorded in situ; it's a hymn to rustling leaves, birds, rain and thunder. Be sure to select the "full screen" option by clicking on the little arrowed box in the lower right-hand corner of the video.
What's more, the video is free for you to share and remix. To quote Mr Solheim: "All the images are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 license. In other words: Use them non commercially as long as you give me credit and as long as you share the work you do under the same license."
Which is nice of an award-winning, rather talented media maven, don't you think? I wonder if there are any musicians out there who would like to adapt the visuals or simply plonk their own music over the video? At this point, I must confess that CTW has been a little lax in discovering these films. They appeared two *cough* ago. What? I said, two *mutter* ago. All right, if you insist, the films were published two years ago. I can't be mega-trendy all the time, you know; I have toenails to grow. But wait, there's more goodness to come. How about another video on the same subject, but this time with people ghosting by in the background?
Lovely, mmm? And for the attention-deficit sufferers out there, here's a 24-carat ambient-minimalist jewel: One Year In 40 Seconds. I think it's the prettiest of all of Mr Solheim's work. It would make an ideal desktop video or screensaver.
If you have enjoyed these films, please think about sending Mr Solheim an appreciative email. If you haven't, send me an abusive one and I will endeavour to return to reviewing free albums and combing my hair in new and vaguely disturbing ways. Until then, please remember that free, CC-licensed stuff isn't evil; it's fun. And sometimes it can be beautiful.
There's a story behind this interruption of my intensely relaxed posting schedule. Recently, I've wasted a fair amount of time on listening to, selecting and then writing about albums that I've subsequently realised contained copyrighted samples, and have been forced to toss the half-finished review in the bin and move on. What galls me is that the albums in question came from reputable netlabels who proudly display a Creative Commons licence on their website.
The whole point of a CC licence is that the holder has already given permission for the user to download and share: there's no need to ask. But if that same album contains samples that are still owned by someone else and who has not given permission for their work to be disseminated, then the whole process is rendered meaningless, irrespective of whether those samples come from an old, obscure song or album. Either an album is Creative Commons or it's not; bending the rules plays
right into the hands of those who criticise the CC paradigm and accuse
everyone who enjoys a legal sharing culture to be thieves. One of the reasons CTW is not the fastest draw in the West is because of delays caused by the above. I'm not a musical encyclopaedia and can't check every piece of music used in a song, so I rely on musicians and netlabels not to abuse the Creative Commons licence.
On a related note, and to explain my modus operandi to new readers of Catching The Waves, I usually recommend a free album and then remind readers that it's often possible to send a donation or buy more of the artist's output. Today, I'll recommend an album that is not Creative Commons-licensed and not free at all, but which is actually a commercial album that is technically and regrettably "free" despite the best and entirely honourable intentions of the artists involved. And it's not the one pictured above. It's this one:
Machinarium is an award-winning point-and-click game set in a mechanical world that looks like a cross between Sesame Street and Bladerunner. The Czech makers, Amanita, thoughtfully released the game without Digital Rights Management (DRM), which meant three things:
Buyers wouldn't have to enter tiresome sixteen-digit serial codes to enjoy what was now their property;
Equally, there would be no awkward online authentication;
Anyone could copy the game from a torrent site.
Sad to say, Amanita reported last week that "only 5-15% of Machinarium players actually paid for the game". However, they also announced a "pirate amnesty" in which everyone could buy the game plus its superb official soundtrack and a free bonus EP for just $5 instead of the usual $20, an offer that prompted geek extrordinaire Wil Wheaton to encourage gamers to "do the right thing." Consequently, Amanita sold over 17,000 copies of Machinarium in a week and has extended its amnesty until 16th August.
We deduce from this that a tweet from @wilw to his 1.67m followers...
*flutters eyelashes*
...is rather more effective than Amanita's $1000 publicity budget, and that people will pay for content that is available for free elsewhere if the content is desirable enough; if the money goes direct to the game developers; if they're brainwashed by celebrities advised by people they trust, and if they want to help the artist to produce more of that desirable work.
In the interests of balance, many of the people who have bought the game recently have done so because the publicity has led them to the game for the first time, or because they felt the price was previously too high to justify a purchase. Not everyone on the internet flies the skull-and-crossbones.
However, what sets the game's teasing puzzles, quirky humour and dusty, gently rusting cityscapes off to a tee is Tomáš Dvořák's playful ambient-electronica soundtrack. Dvořák has been called an "electro-instrumentalist" and is a graduate of the Prague Academy of Visual Arts. In Machinarium, he has cleverly spliced elderly analogue synths, smooth sweeps of radio interference/white noise and barely audible, distorted vocals (from an old Apple speech synthesiser) with traditional acoustic instruments. The latter are often filtered through a granular effect, resulting in a clanging, grimy soundscape that suggests Eastern European jazz and post-Cold War industrial decline to my susceptible and over-imaginative ears.
Rarely has such an eclectic, old-fashioned collection of instruments (piano, clarinet, kalimba, metallophones, accordion, melodica, double bass and cello) sounded so 21st century. The result is oxymoronic: melodic ambient. I'll illustrate just how melodic and just how ambient the official soundtrack is by showcasing a track from the other, free album. (Logic, I laugh in your AND/NOT gate.)
Impressive how the piano floats on top of the pads, background vocals and distorted noise, isn't it? By The Wall really blossoms if you wear headphones. The clarinet intro is better than a shot of whisky with a morphine chaser.
Here, Dvořák conveys the whimsical and enticing atmosphere of the game with a jolly bass line, reverberating percussion and, mid-track, a delicately tuneful blast of radio interference:
Please note, those tracks are from the free five-track EP. There are 14 more dreamy examples of sublimity on the official soundtrack, which can be bought separately - but it makes more sense to get both albums simply by buying the game. Do so, and you get the
remastered soundtrack, the bonus EP and a gentle, amusing, mesmerising
game that is suitable for grandchildren, grandparents and all those who
contribute to the global economy. "Buy one, get two free" is a pretty good deal. Speaking of which, I'd like to see Aminita continue its amnesty until the end of the month, when people are more likely to have cash to spare.
If you do get the official soundtrack, look out for the lightly menacing The Black Cap Brotherhood Theme, the turn-your-woofer-down Clockwise Operetta, the café-jazz of The End (Prague Radio) and The Glasshouse With Butterfly, which is one of the best crackling, echoing atmospheric pieces of ambient it has been my privilege to hear.
Failing all that, simply download the free Free Machinarium Bonus EP and keep your money in your pocket. After all, this is where you come to get good, legally free music, isn't it? I won't tell anyone that you have short arms and long pockets. But I do have a song for you:
Regular readers will know that it's my long-term ambition to make CTW redundant, superfluous and generally as irrelevant as BP's PR department. To that end, I sometimes add similar websites to my "General Netlabel Sites" category, an honour so highly regarded in the Creative Commons music world that it reacts as though a new star had ascended to the heavens. (Yeah, right.) And lo, it came to pass that yours truly looked upon the works of one Thomas Rauskamp and was well pleased.
Thomas is the editor of Germany's Beat magazine (it's similar to the UK's Computer Music Magazine), the only Hauptstraße periodical I know of that devotes time and space (reviews, interviews and roundtables) to the Creative Commons netlabel scene. Germany's position, Cologne's in particular, as Netlabel Zentraal makes me wonder, in a chicken-meets-egg analogy, if Beat spurred on the CC music movement there or vice versa. It's rare for a commercial publication to take the free music scene so seriously, but Beat does so because it realises that it's fun, refreshing and reflects the changes that the internet has wrought upon popular culture.
Thomas's enthusiasm for the scene is so great that he has forsaken all notions of propriety and started blogging reviews of CC albums, an idea which, as we all know, is monumentally stupid. More to the point, he reviews frequently and with great insight, and invariably explains various aspects of the netlabel scene while doing so. As such, I urge you to turn your traitorous backs on CTW and slake your thirst for good, legally free music by visiting Thomas' Posterous as soon as you can. If you do, you'll wonder why you ever turned to heroin and crack to obliterate the yawning mental chasms that opened while you waited...and waited...for the next CTW post. No, don't thank me, meine leiblinge, thank Thomas: he's the one doing all the heavy lifting.
What's that? You don't believe that there are much better free music sites than this one? Are you telling me that you are...
*digs deep into my vault of puns*
...doubting Thomas? (Sorry, sorry. That was a particularly egregious joke, a low blow in the fight for Creative Commons credibility. I won't do it again.) If you visit his website, you'll find lots of lovely netlabels to explore, and you'll have found a great new resource for squeezing enjoyment out of this magical online world we call Duhweb, or Dasveb, as my German friends refer to it. Look, trust me. I should know all about these things, having been reviewing free music for a few years. After all, I've been at it for so long, I'm preposterous.
It's official: Catching The Waves is the world's first zombie Creative Commons music blog. Yes, I've killed it, buried it and sowed the grave with lime, but here it is, ready to rake its filthy, jagged fingernails across the ears throat of anyone it meets. Honestly, it's not my fault. I've finished with the damned thing but something I did in December has just raised its ugly head (out of the grave, as it were) and needs hitting with a sharp-edged spade. Besides, I know you're keening with grief at the demise of CTW, and this post will recommend a place where you can find free tunes aplenty. I'm so lovely.
Let me take you to a board meeting circa 2006. Around the polished oak table are heavies from WFMU, an American free-form non-commercial radio station that has been broadasting from New Jersey since 1958, and legal beagles from the Office of the New York State Attorney General. Think ceiling fans, drawn blinds and cigar smoke.
The chief lawyer twangs his red braces and announces that WFMU is to make contemporary music of all genres available to everyone across the state and compile a podsafe online music library.
"What am I, chopped liver?" asks a sweating radio luminary who has seen too many Woody Allen movies. "Who's going to pay for this smorgasbord?" he adds, hoping to sound sophisticated.
"Fugeddabout it," responds the lawyer, doing his best Chazz Palminteri impression. "Da Noo Yawk State Music Fund...
*CTW ignores the "You are offending millions of people" pop-up warning*
...is gonna ante up the dough. Da big record companies have been running a payola racket and we're giving youse somma da court settlements."
Hands are shaken and brows are mopped. But what to call this new archive of free music, this music archive that is free? Cigars are chomped, generic Italian dishes digested (as is one Chinese take-away, ordered by a newbie lawyer who hasn't yet been hazed at the local Masonic lodge), and legal pads filled with possible titles. At 3am, they have it: the Free Music Archive.
Bada-bing bada-boom.
In April 2009, the website went live under the joint management of WFMU and some non-profit community radio stations and venues. Go there and you'll find a constantly growing library of free music that you can listen to and download. There are also short artist biographies and links to the musicians' websites should you wish to investigate further. If you're a little overwhelmed by the volume of music and not sure where to start, investigate the curators' recommendations or take a look at the FMA's constantly updated charts. I'll let the site itself take over:
Inspired by Creative Commons and the open source software movement, the
FMA provides a legal and technological framework for curators, artists,
and listeners to harness the potential of music sharing. Every artist
page will have a bio and links to the artists’ home page for users to
learn more about the music they discover via the Free Music Archive. We
also seek to compensate artists directly. Artist, album and song
profiles will contain links to buy the full album from the artist
and/or label’s preferred vendor(s). Users can also “tip” an artist if
they like what they hear, sending a donation directly to the artists’
PayPal account. Artist profiles include tourdates, encouraging users
to step away from the glowing computer screen and see some real live
music.
Legally free music is still in for a bumpy ride, in my opinion, especially if it becomes truly popular. It remains to be seen whether the Creative Commons approach and the similar format adopted by the FMA can withstand the rigours of the internet. It's early days for the FMA (which will be refined as it grows in popularity), but it clearly has the potential to be a superb asset for fans of legally free music. Fingers crossed, everyone.
Anyone can visit and use the site, although music and editorial content is posted on an invitational basis - which brings me to the December stuff I mentioned.
*switches on megaphone*
AND NOW, AT LAST, SOME MUSIC. BUT FIRST, WITH THANKS TO ENGADGET, A JAPANESE ROBOT WILL PERFORM AN INTERPRETATIVE BREAK-DANCE SEQUENCE TO CONVEY MY JOY AT FINALLY KILLING CTW. TAKE IT AWAY, MANOI GO:
Yeah, baby.
The FMA were idiotic kind enough to invite me to put together a compilation cum playlist of tracks. They'll be familiar to regular visitors to CTW, but I hope they will serve as a good antidote to the "All free music is rubbish" argument. To whit: some free music is superb. I am most grateful to Cameron Perkins, the Culture Program Assistant at creativecommons.org, and Jason Sigal, FMA Managing Director, who were very patient with me.
The Catching The Waves FMA "Mix" (I'll make you go via the Creative Commons so you can bask in the glory of the CTW logo, which is made of plasticine and a lot of swearing.)
I'm rather annoyed. The day after I decide to drown this blog in the kitchen sink, an album emerges from my hard drive and demands a review.* Will you lot out there stop releasing good CC albums so I can finally throw CTW in the wood-chipper?
*retrieves CV from waste-paper basket*
Right, let's get on with it. "Werken" is a nom de plume of Tilman Ehrhorn, a Berlin-based music producer, composer, saxophone/reed player and sound designer. I don't have time for this. I am a busy man and I want a macchiato and some cake. He's a vastly experienced jazz musician, having collaborated with the likes of Wayne Shorter (I am not worthy, I am not worthy), Hamburg Sinfoniker, L'Atelier d'Orchestre, and has appeared on many jazz and electronica recordings and been involved in numerous German TV and theatre productions. I have a novel to write and languages to learn. Please let me go. He's also worked with Native Instruments, having designed presets for their highly regarded Massive, Absynth and FM8 softsynths, and helped to develop Kore 2, NI's software controller.
So, let's take a look at that CV...modern jazz, electronica, composer, professional sound designer. Hmm. If only someone with those talents decided to release an album. Or decided not to, allowing me to crochet my nose-hairs and spend more time feeling guilty about not attending the gym. Cake, I need cake. Wouldn't you know it, Mr Ehrhorn has done just that. In Sum, you'll find 11 tracks of dubby, crackly ambient that will delight fans of the terrific Urlaub Auf Balkonien, the Qwartz-winning album from Krill.Minima. Its stately, granular milieu will be the perfect fit for your brand new and not-at-all-blindingly-expensive Google Nexus One as you trudge through snow-laden streets.
Sum is about as hand-tooled as electronica gets. Werken has made nearly every sound on the album himself, using a modular synth to build the percussive elements and the lovely stabs of crackly goodness that permeate the surprisingly light reverb. I keep expecting a run-of-the-mill kick/snare/hi-hat combo to start up, but it never does. Instead, Werken stays true to his love of jazz improvisation, preferring to search for an overall structure derived from a combination of many elements rather than conform to something more overtly rigid. It's less "tsss tsss tsss tsss" and more "zzzt kssk domp fffn ussh". I may have used different halves of my brain to write those last two sentences.
This release from Zymogen netlabel (a very strokeable Italian netlabel that gets everything right apart from...*deep sigh*...making it tricky for amateurish CC blogs to preview or host their albums) won't make you tap your feet or nod your head, but it will tickle your fancy. My recommended track is C&P, but the link isn't working [EDIT: it is now. Thank you, Zymogen], so instead I'll proffer Surrender, four minutes of chopped-up white noise dub that will convince you that Tilman Ehrhorn is a talented musician who is adept at manipulating electronic sounds.
I'm sure he'd love to get a few emails thanking him for his free CC album. After all, his EP is greater than the Sum of its parts. Ouch. Clunk. Apologies for not reviewing Sum in more detail. If I do ever write another review, I'll concentrate on the music and stop penning such godawful puns. Anything else would be punishing to read. Heh.
Last month, 1.2 million Norwegians sat down and watched Bergensbanen, a documentary showing ...wait for it...seven and a half hours of the beautiful snow-laden, mountainous train journey from Bergen, on the west coast of Norway, to Oslo, spiritual hometown of Earth's leggy blondes.
Ambient artists across the world are now flipping out. But the video is not just for cuddly, tea-drinking, sandal-wearing ocarina players. Meat-eaters are allowed to slice and dice Bergensbanen. Please do so.
What, not interested? Are you trying to tell me that nearly eight hours of a train journey might be less interesting than navel fluff? Shame on you. Here's a snippet of the journey through Finse, which doubled as the ice planet Hoth in The Empire Strikes Back. Look, if George Lucas decided that the place was exciting, that's good enough for me.
*thinks about the prequel Star Wars trilogy*
It's still worth watching. Three cheers for imaginative Scandinavian state-run broadcasting systems and national rail networks!
To Baaaarcelona, in celebration of a top-class football club netlabel that has been banging in the goals pumping out excellent releases for quite some time and has now achieved the miraculous and got Carles Puyol to cut his hair reached number 50 in their release schedule. End of football jokes.*
InoQuo has come over all giddy and released a nine-track compilation of top-class minimal/techno. Like just about every other netlabel album in this genre, Kvindek doesn't conform to CTW's infamous first law of dance music (the first of my minions to post a comment stating what it is will receive a free CC track from CTW's vaults), but that doesn't stop it from containing studio wizardry and buttock-seducing rhythms. To demonstrate, I'll recommend the first track as I'm fond of the aural tricks it plays. You get classical guitar, reverbed and chopped voices, and tooting synths - and that's just in the first few seconds, before a ridiculously close-up high/low frequency stab is plopped in your ear. It then proceeds to groove with the help of the aforementioned elements and the addition of pitch-shifted tubular bell-like...oh, hell, why am I burbling on? Suck it and see:
Hermético's Nueva Fórmula doesn't actually break new ground, but what it does it does very well. A bumping bass, abrasive snare, tannoy-like vocals, tiny little glitches (a feature of the entire EP - there's nary a moment that hasn't been worked to within an inch of its life) and a fast pace ensure that this will burn the calories. Turn up the volume and it comes to life - as does En Casa De Paola by Monokao, whose kick-snare-repeat-till-unconscious mantra drives the minimal nail into the ground with a big techno hammer, restrained only by the occasional speak-and-spell vocal. The excellent mastering overcomes the compositional simplicity through sheer power. It's a banger.
But it's not all dark dancefloors and sticky t-shirts. Modular by Saccobros is one of those minimal tracks that, if you squint a bit, could be described as electronica or even ambient, because the usual percussive framework is swamped by a Nintendo-ish flurry of triplets that swells and contracts with hypnotic rhythm. It's like listening to an electronic seashore.
Mercurio by Manuel Romero starts off ordinarily enough, but little glitches, snatches of conversations, electronic growls and whatever else he can conjure up with, at a guess, Ableton software soon alerts the listener that here is an amazingly dense track that flourishes when heard through headphones. Take it home, loosen its dancefloor clothes and you'll find that it's wearing a glitchy bra and ambient knickers.
Apologies for that last sentence and to Project Swirl and Licuadora System, whose tracks, though well worth hearing, have been brushed over because I'm about to hit my mental Twitter word limit. It's nothing personal. And despite some rather delicious jazz electric piano, Grau's Miles is, well, miles too long.
Everything apart from the hi-hats in Mikel Mendia's Takumar seems low-passed, giving it a suitably understated feel for Kvindek's last track. I liked the drop about a minute and a half in, where the track comes to a halt only to restart with an echoing snare drum flam and tiny snippets of ...cutlery. Such moments are sprinkled throughout the album. Like a hairy wart anything with hidden depths, Kvindek took time to grow on me. Turn up the volume to let the excellent recording quality shine, give it a few spins and see if the same happens to you.
*Ah, mes amis. Le Coupe du Monde. Quel dommage, hein? By the way, if you're wondering about how musicians and netlabels react
to getting prodded by CTW's smelly finger, here's a reaction shot from
the inoQuo staff (I may be lying about this). Can't you feel the love? CC music: you know it makes sense.
I don't know about you, but the arrival of autumn gives CTW the chance to drink hot chocolate, kick clouds of fiery leaves into the air and don a snug duffel coat made of free ambient-ish electronica.
Hailing from Spokane in Washington state, USA, Joseph Snodgrass, otherwise known (and who can blame him?)* as The Lights Galaxia, is an ambient/electronic musician who has capered onto the CC front lawn with Global, a collection of four tracks that's more comforting than a mug of liquid caramel topped with marshmallows. Carl Sagan's ghost has helped fluff the pillows and smooth out the sounds. No, really.
We begin with Forever Arriving - any jokes about my review schedule will see your Internet Membership revoked - wherein the ambient voices and clattering of everyday life underpin drifting piano and synth chords that refuse to resolve until the final moments. By the end, there's nothing left to listen to but people in the street, time having come to a standstill. You won't be raving/head-banging/having it large/enjoying your banker's bonus to this record.
After that, it's - TA-DAH! - my recommended track, which is an adult lullaby that should appeal to fans of (Danish music astronaut) Trentemøller and (Oxfordshire studio rats) Radiohead. In While She Sleeps (Morning Edit), you'll hear gossamer-thin, intimate synths meld with other fluffy, pulsing synths, the flapping of butterfly wings, and pixies drumming on acorn shells. In other words, it's a very clever collection of layered pads combined with lightly percussive synths and just plain percussion that's panned across the stereo spectrum so as not to clog up the mix. How to describe it further? It's like bunnies kissing.
Tokyo Metro takes two full minutes of chewy, crackly, ambient strap-hanging to get underway under the power of a brooding, surprisingly funky bassline and reverberating guitar accompaniment; it ends with an ambient tail that's long enough to return the mood of the track back to the original platform. Good stuff. The soundscape reminds me of DJ Side's low-passed, reverberating Bittersweet Love EP - which is more good stuff.
The final stop on the global tour (Mr S, you can have that dreadful pun free of charge for your promotional T-shirts) is The Last Lights In The City. The central motif is the oh-so-soulful epiano blues/jazz chords that swap so slowly that there's time for separate notes of each chord to pan from one ear to the other and back again. The steady diet is leavened with more Trentemøller-ish synth murmurings. If you're in doubt: it's gorgeous. You'll have to listen to it in the shower because if you hear it whilst having a bath you will undergo a short coma and wake up with your big toe stuck up a tap.
Global is intended to be a preview of a full concept album about the increasing urbanisation of the Earth, The Cities Global, to be released in 2010; I suggest that it wets the whistle most effectively. Please keep an eye out for the album, or at least let Joseph know you enjoyed it.
Hang on. Sit down. I'm not finished. As luck would have it, just as my dinosaur-like cerebral cortex was deciding to write about Global, I discovered that one of my favourite music blogs had already written about it. Hurrah, said I, for I'd been looking for an excuse to mention this music bolthole for ages:
Travis Noble's Hiddenplace Music is a calm, soothing blog that, unlike the mongrel Catching The Waves, specialises in reviewing ambient and downtempo music. Reasons to drop by: interesting, high-quality selections; authoritative, judicious reviews; a "blog news box" that collates CC releases, thus providing the curious visitor with hours of exploratory fun, and a restrained blog design courtesy of Travis's secret identity as a graphic designer. Oh, and there are six mixes of netlabel music to explore. I must mention the excellent Solipsistic Nation podcast that Travis put together in January, highlighting his pick of the best netlabel releases of 2008. I've listened to it quite a few times over the last year; its blend of chat and dreamy ambient music is so beguiling. Yes, 2008. Yes, I am that out of date. You should see my haircut.
Hiddenplace Music (gets a spot in *gasp* CTW's General Netlabel Sites category)
You'll see from the title
of his quirky album that QuarterBIT, a talented cove from sultry
Barcelona, has loosed his floe of ambient on the icy waters of the
internet without so much as a glance at his spell-checker. Ah me. You
should know by now that free music can't afford sub-editors. Besides,
this is the internet; anyone can make a tipo typo.
There's not much point in
listening to this on your daily commute unless you have high-quality
noise-cancelling headphones. The Antartica Files is a pure
ambient album, by which I mean that it's all field recordings, so
it'll get bullied by extraneous real-life ambient sounds like
planes, trains and automobiles. And other John Hughes films.
Hey, where do you think
you're going? Come back here, buster. Listen up. I know it's ambient.
I know it won't make your rump do the rumba. Nevertheless, if you're
feeling a bit jaded about music or you love sounds for their own
sake, try one track - then I'll let you go. As you'll hear, there are few more beautiful sounds in this world than church bells, especially the deep, round, full chimes that
appear towards the end of Church. Lovely.
Just about the only track
here that sounds overtly manipulated is Harbor Harmonic, where
seagulls compete to see whose mournful screams sound most like a mellow Eddie
Van Halen. It's either a marvellous layering of different recordings,
some tasteful pitch automation, or Hitchcock was right and the birds
are up to something.
This being ambient,
there's an obligatory inclusion of crashing waves. Most ambient beach
recordings tend to concentrate on the higher frequencies; not so in
Antarctica Surf (correct spelling!), where you'll feel the
weight of hundreds of tons of ice-cold water pound a pebbly shore.
Parade features
some jolly car horns and a trad jazz band that will go in your right
ear and out your left like a hot knife through
ICan'tBelieveMyGreyMatterIsSoPliable Butter.
A female relative of mine
(who has dropped a couple of ankle-biters) says this type of album is
good for someone who is with child. Perhaps she's right. Mind you, I
think she was listening to something a bit more vigorous a few months
earlier.
There are so many details
here that will tickle the tired ear: a motorboat that sounds like a
wallowing warthog; a droning fly; snatches of conversation;
footfalls; querulous sheep, a clanking gate (a nice way to end the
track Sheep); and water, water, everywhere, be it running
water (At The Glacier), lapping waves & bubbling streams
(The Ice Island) or churning, frothy pools (The Waterfall).
I hope the above verbiage
gives you an idea of what to expect. I suggest you find a quiet
corner, press “play” and let the magic of audio transport you to
everyday but wondrous places around the world. If you need more of
the same, stick your head out of a window and listen anew.
There will be some
strange people out there who insist that music should include
esoteric things like instruments, notes, melodies and rhythms. Yeah,
I know; weird. Still, CTW is a fat broad
church so I've done something startling and included a second album
for your delectation.
This classy compilation
of burgeoning ambient artists is the most recent product from the
same label, PublicSpaces Lab, that released The Antartica Files. As
this is not a proper album review, it's fitting that the album is
named Ceci n'est pas une pipe. The sound quality is excellent
throughout, there are some winning tracks lodged between the plethora
of ambient sounds and drones, and four dimensions (time & space)
and the truth (laziness) are forcing me to cut this review far too
short.
Somio has pulled a
flanker with San Feliz, a track inspired by numerous sojourns
to northern Spain. It's far too upbeat, cheery and hip to be
described as ambient. But we won't complain, will we?
And
despite lettering that's driving my Anglo-Saxon keyboard round
the bend, Løser's
Núr
is definitely worth a listen. The unimportant stuff: drones,
trip-hop, ethereal vocals, camera noises. The important stuff: it's
good. If you like ambient-ish downtempo grooves with a dash of
electronica, this'll be your pint of porter.
Not
bad, hmm? Ceci N'est Pas Une Pipe also comes with an
excellent booklet that gives lots of information about the
contributing artists, including one QuarterBIT. And that's it. C'est
tout. Run along, gang. You might get some music next time.
Raised in Bogotá,
Colombia and of Japanese descent, Nobara Hayakawa is trained in jazz
singing, holds degrees in Graphic Design and Fine Arts from
Universidad Nacional de Columbia and Tokyo National University of
Fine Arts and Music, and is currently a lecturer at two Colombian
universities. But I won't hold that against her; CTW accepts anyone,
no matter how clever.
In the first track out of six, Trail,
Ms Hayakawa sings in Japanese and wordless vocals; the latter are used for most of the
album (with a splash of English), so all you monoglots out there can relax. It's about
"the love/hate pendular movements that one experiences under the
effects of a caprice” and there is indeed a little tension in the
stunning wash of vocal harmonies that dominate this song. The luxuriant vocals are panned either side of the insistent, tinny percussion that nags away as though someone was tapping on the computer screen to get your attention.
Now you know that Ms
Hayakawa can hold a note or three, you might expect some decent
singing in the next track. Clever you; you're right on the nose. In fact, there are some lovely swooping vocal phrases that are strongly reminiscent of Kate Bush. What
you might not expect is a hoover, even though the track is named Hoover
Love. Take your mind out of
the gutter. It's surreal to listen to this charming song's tick-tock percussion and piano and then hear a vacuum cleaner start up in the background, begin
to roar like a jet engine and then, for a few enchanting seconds,
match the song's pitch before slowly fading away. If nothing else, it'll change your
opinion of carpets.
Alas is a gentle vocal workout with a soothing piano accompaniment and synth embellishments. Towards the end of the track, a bass pad underlines the wistful atmosphere. Nobara responds by exploring her lower vocal register.
To Desalejar, where the listener will enjoy some crusty distorted
vocals, a memorable synth melody and another lovely bed of vocals. Again, her swooping lines, overt
emotionalism and willingness to incorporate unusual ambient sounds
into her songs lead me to think that Ms Hayakawa is a Kate Bush fan – and that's
before I mention the steam whistle coda. Of course, I might be wrong.
We all know that I'm an idiot.
The hums and ambient noises at the start of Fuzzy Lady are interrupted by an amplified, reverberating slow drag down a guitar string - it's the nastiest sound you'll have heard since your least favourite teacher last scraped chalk down a blackboard. It's followed by a piano, the obligatory enchanting vocals and - to continue the earlier household cleaning theme - a washing machine. There's also a voiceover from an ancient
detergent advert, jazzy piano chords, cooing vocals, sleepy guitars and a drum machine that sneakily ups and
drops the tempo as the mood takes it. Would you expect anything less? I didn't like Fuzzy Lady at first, but subsequent listens have revealed it to be a beautiful piece of ambient-ish, atmospheric electronica.
Finally, the first minute of Homelessness, consisting as it does of lacklustre synths and distorted rumbling, is
rather disappointing, but its second is fortunately hijacked by a very low-fi drum beat and an ear-meltingly gorgeous melody – sung in English, no less. It was written "after reading too much Paul Auster and crying too much for the
same ghost". Artistic hangovers are evidently more spiritual and productive than my cheap and nasty alcoholic ones.
There's no Donate button on the album's release page at Intervall-audio, but the netlabel does have a shop dedicated to German & Japanese electronica, mainly from Düsseldorf & Tokyo, so feel free to let your wallet run amok. Nobara Hayakawa's website is similarly absent of shiny money buttons, but I'm sure she'd be delighted to receive a few emails saying how her album has made the world a better place. She's also on the lookout for musical collaborations, so don't be shy.
My thanks to Phlow, Free Albums Galore and everyone else who has already commented on Trail. I have never claimed to be original - just handsome.
I've a good reason for recommending Erdbeerschnitzel's Pathetik Party so soon after reviewing his Tracknames I Can't Pronounce EP. Party was supposed to have been released by a record label, but the label apparently dragged its heels so much that Erdy (Tim Keiling from Mainz) decided to release it himself under a Creative Commons licence. So, why did these ten tracks not find favour? What will you find if you go to this party? Well, the Schnitzel claims it will be dubstep, electronica, freakhouse, and "whatever", though I could easily describe it as glitch-hop, drone, electronica, minimal and "you're not the boss of me". It certainly has a far wider scope than the excellent Tracknames EP. Indeed, the Schnitz admits the album is his personal goodbye to genre-specific music.
The title track is an atmospheric and dubby piece of electronica whose gold-plated production should convince you that you're on to a good thing - just like most parties I attend. Heh. Ein Tag Namens Higke is a swinging piece of, er, freakhouse(?) where the chops come fast and funky. Now, let's have a glass of cassis to clear the palate. One and a half minutes of a curiously uplifting drone should do the trick. Thank you, Kurzer Einwand Nummer Eins.
Distantanz starts off as a fairly standard piece of minimal until it almost stops and some gorgeous synth chords gently ring out amid processed vocals; it then moves back up the gears to become a relaxed dance track with grade-A production skills. Think of it as an aural Bentley.
Some of these tracks are simply prime electronica. Air, Groove Armada, Björk and particularly Leftfield could release Wogenbeugel and you'd think, "Hmm, they're on form." Its woody synths take their own sweet time in getting to the end, thanks in no small part to chopped vocals and popping and snapping percussion coming out to play, but you honestly won't mind. In the less than three minutes of Kurzer Einwand Nummer Zwei's robotic glitch-hop, you'll find yourself trying to work out how much work went into making it, but you'll probably get distracted by its insistent swing.
By the time you've regained control of your body, it's time to let your brain loose on Die Leiden des Jungen S, where the next eleven minutes - a wild guess, but perhaps it's at this point that the record label got nervous - go some way to creating a minimal equivalent of Dark Side of the Moon. Yes, I quailed at the idea of this track. Now I love it. Erdbeerschnitzel has the ability to develop his musical ideas and does so via a reverberating soundscape, swooping, otherwordly synths, a groove that won't quit (except where Erdy decides that we all need to chillout) and a genuine sense of development. Die Leiden des Jungen S is eleven minutes long because it needs to be. It's not dance and it's not thoughtful electronica: it's both. That's a rare thing.
The last of the ten tracks, Singular, is noteworthy for warm, spliced vocals and a reminder, as if the listener needed it, that Pathetik Party is an unpredictable collection. Each fresh outing of this album reveals something new to enjoy; it has more unpredictable chops and ideas than a drunk sushi chef.
Did I say ten? I'm such a tease. You came here to earn the praise of your friends and a pay rise from your newly impressed boss by becoming Mr Cool, thanks to your discovery of the musical equivalent of a Stealth Fighter. Right. See if this gets your earlobes flapping:
Yes, you are now a sex god. This transformation has been achieved by a hollowed-out, distorted bass line that rolls like a loaded dice, lazy processed brass stabs, honky-tonk synths and some of the most beguiling glitchy percussion you'll hear this side of a scratched "Drums on 45" record. It's a trippy, jazzy funkout. Play it loud and you'll lose weight through involuntary movement and cut a swathe through your profession/college/nightclub/underpants. (I think the track on the Soundcloud release page is a slightly different edit to the zipped album track. I much prefer the latter so that's the one on CTW's cuddly media player.)
Why was this album not taken on by a record label? You tell me, because I don't know.
There's a prominent Paypal icon on the album's release page. Please think about pressing it or at least sending Erdy a "thank you" email. He's even been so generous as to provide you with an action figure. You could turn it into a piggy bank and save some cash for him. Just be careful where you put the slot.
Few things get me off my sickbed quicker than the National Health Service prospect of a decent electronica album. Bitbasic, already the recipient of a CTW review (the lucky beggar!), has provided the medicine and called it, er, Leonard. He made it in a month as part of the RPM Challenge, netaudio's equivalent to National Novel Writing Month. Now, don't curl your lip. The Beatles' early albums and Mozart's last three symphonies all took less than a month to come to fruition. Leonard isn't quite in that class - but it's still a boatload of glitchy, grooving bliss.
My first (gasp! You mean there's more than one?) recommended track, Choice of Harp, ably demonstrates that sampling doesn't have to be all about chopping a choice hook or stuttering a vocal to within an inch of its life. It's one thing to slap a hip-hop beat over a sedate conversation about harps; it's another to add sub-bass and phasing synths and thus create electronica that conveys emotion.
Wanton artiste that he is, Bitbasic has divided one of his songs into three parts and placed them at the start, middle and end of the album. Called Might...As Well...Not Bother, it will force those of you with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder to put them together on a playlist. It will also compel fans of Radiohead's Kid A era to send it to their nerdy perceptive friends.
*taps screen*
I said Radiohead. Wake up at the back there.
To save space, here's a summary of what else is here: Treeboy (jazz guitar & glitch); Skuppered (glitchy breakbeat with a lovely dash of chiptune); Mignon Forestry (crushed beats and soothing synths); Cdr882 (huge pads, a mid-section straight out of Pink Floyd and a headlong rush to sonic destruction); Six Junglists (breakbeat and suitably fast accompaniment); I Love Flin (chiptune, glitch, breakbeat and comedy carhorn) and Ode to Seed (ethnic percussion, reverberating sweeps, ring-modulated* percussion).
One of Bitbasic's most appealing characteristics is his gadfly nature; he can turn his hand to so many electronica genres that it's impossible to predict what's going to pop up on one of his tracks. For example, Plinks and Plonks for Stonks is a glitchy groover with acidic Daft Punk overtones and a ridiculously gorgeous sinewave-ish refrain. I can't resist giving it an outing.
Some of my trillions of readers flipped over Bitbasic's Grating Rainbows - they'll definitely want to meet Leonard. Although there's no tip jar or Paypal icon at Bitbasic's site, please think about sending him a "thank you/I want your babies" email.
I've followed Typepad's well-meaning advice about attracting readers to this greasy corner of the net, and have therefore used an obvious and explicit post title instead of my usual artsy-fartsy and obscure fare. Don't try to make a clever pun: just say what it is you're writing about.
*looks up*
Yeah, that's really going to help. People type that into Google all the time.
Modem, an aspiring sound designer from Tempe in Arizona, first essayed Wooly Mammoth Stomp, a fine example of IDM fast-paced, glitchy, danceable electronica, in his ModEP003 album of 2006. Two years later, with a little help from his friends, he released an EP of remixes of the aforementioned stomp. Now CTW will add some unwarranted amateurism to this hitherto orderly and professional process.
The first remix of Wooly Mammoth Stomp, by Terminal11, features a filthy electro riff, some nifty vocal stutters, an accordion and synth embellishments. Overall, it's a...wait...back up. Accordion? In an electro track? Oh well, in the wacky world of electronica one must expect the unexp...accordion? It should be disastrous, but it's so incongruous yet so well done that it somehow works.
Following that is Captainmarmalade's Eskimo Kisses Remix, two minutes of blazingly rapid IDM glitchy percussion garnished with choppy synths and smash edits. The Nero's Day at Disneyland Remix by, er, Nero's Day at Disneyland is another two minutes of the same, albeit with a tired house-ish intro that is redeemed by smart synth work and an electro bass line.
Talve's Remix is a stealth song: this is an unremarkable, if well-produced, piece of uptempo electronica that, without announcing its intentions, engages you in polite conversation, lulls you into a false sense of security and then gently slips a cold hand up your thigh. Gradually, without any fanfare, the tempo drops and drops...and drops, until the track finally becomes slower than underfunded public transport; uncannily, the formerly percussive bleeps and blips morph into ambient pings reverberating against a shimmering synth pad. It's like sitting in a hot bath: two minutes of ooh-ing and aah-ing followed by deepening calmness and scented candles. Recommended for those who need to chill out. One might say that it's a mammoth track.
Glix's Anxt Remix is a deft slice of (dread acronym) IDM with odd flashes of synthy interest and glitchy tomfoolery. The Floorcrusher Remix by ANgR. MgMT. is a suitably aggressive reworking of the title track which confirms that every remix on this 26-minute long EP is impeccably produced and realised. There's nothing woolly about it at all. And yes, I did use the British spelling. W.o.o.l.l.y. So there.
If you like this free album, please don't forget to thank Modem. Don't forget to think about downloading his other free albums, MODEP003 & MODEP002. You could also visit his website's "Friends" section for links to the artists featured on Wooly Mammoth Stomp. End of orders.
Modem - Wooly Mammoth Stomp (link to individual mp3s and zipped album - it's a rather primitive download page. "192.rar" is the zipped album. As yet, Modem hasn't added an album cover, but you could always copy the picture he gave me for this review. Go on, rub my wool.)
(I.D.M., the tag used on this album's mp3s, stands for "Intelligent Dance Music". It's a loathsome, divisive moniker so please understand that I've used it in this review's title because I'm highly proficient at weak humour.)
Listening to this three-track EP by Detroit resident Richard Sudney, released under his artistic pseudonym of Monopole, is akin to taking your seat in a darkened cinema and hearing the swish of parting curtains; suddenly, you're not in Kansas anymore. Monopole is a fan of Big Band music and jazz and, strangely enough, this shows: despite Silent Movie Surround Sound being a very modern essay in electronica, all three tracks use a clickety-clack rhythm that is a distant cousin to the purring movie projectors of those madcap years between the world wars.
Today's recommended track is, in my oh-so-swaggering opinion, an absolute stunner. Stereo-vision Radio makes epic use of hypnotic chimes, flanging white-noise, rattling percussion, dusty crackles and field recordings to steal a few minutes from your life and point you down a yellow brick road. Listen to this without interruption and you might experience one of those "I am the centre of global cool" moments that sometimes occur when trawling through the wonderful world of Creative Commons music:
It's quite a stew, isn't it? Real headphones territory. It's surprisingly fast-paced for a track that contains so much ambient noise. I especially like the compositional line that takes the listener on a David Lynch-esque journey, including a spooky bridging section that slows everything to a standstill before slurring back up to full speed. There are snatches of barely audible field recordings buried in the mix that ensure the listener is drawn deep into the track. When Monopole slams a door at the song's end and complains, "Ah, this won't work!", be sure to send him an email and assure him that it does, in fact, work rather well.
The title track, Silent Movie Surround Sound, is ostensibly about the upfront percussive glitches, but they're just the bones; the meat comes from the breathy white noise and the synths swelling slowly in the background. Again, chimes add a contemplative air to proceedings. The latter part of SMSS probably employs, like the rest of the album, manipulated field recordings from the abandoned factories and warehouses of once-busy Detroit and/or samples from the analogue electronics and outdated valve-driven communications equipment that Monopole has stashed in his basement recording studio/Dr Evil lair.
Main Feature Intermission, with it's low-key snap, crackle and pop percussion, is the final and most straightforward of the three tracks - until drones and background noises join the party, when it claims its rightful place as the third part of Monopole's introspective trio. Like the rest of the album, there's a still, meditative quality to the composition even though every last second is crammed with notes, sounds, clicks and burrs. (If Silent Movie Surround Sound were vinyl, it'd need a duster.) Phasing synths, airport announcements, gruff percussion and echoing footfalls bring proceedings to a transcendental close. Don't they always?
Monopole is one of those musicians who makes me realise that there's still a lot of music yet to be composed. He has yoked his talent and imagination to music technology and produced some enthralling results. I hope his efforts bring him the recognition he deserves.
It's a pleasure finally to snuggle up to Test Tube netlabel, known for its exemplary presentation of experimental electronica (and alliteration). I couldn't quite click with some of their releases but now I'm happy to give them the glad eye and pat the empty seat next to me in the back row of the cinema.
Andrey Malshchukoff (or A7, if you prefer) comes from Kirov - the city, not the famous theatre/ballet company. He might not be able to essay a grand jeté or wear a tutu, but he can certainly strut the stage. He is far too young an exponent of music production to be able to, say, replace a snare drum with a click of his fingers, but nevertheless he's done it, quite literally; Thaebis, his thumpingly good display of Russian minimalism, often uses the sound of finger clicks to keep the beat instead of trotting out the inevitable and therefore boring snare drum. The album's kick drum/bass combo is beautifully equalised; so much so that it hoofs like a Republican supporter taking aim at a stray balloon the morning after Barack Obama's inauguration.
Today's sound-fest is Mechanika, which wittily uses the sound of a ping-pong ball pinging from side to side as though it had been subjected to... a ping-pong delay. (It's technical stuff, kids. Let Uncle CTW worry about that stuff.) A rasping, rave-ish synth line leavens the funky hi-hats and robust rhythm, ensuring that Mechanika doesn't become too mechanical. Look, just press the little triangle and turn the volume up. Music will ensue. Drink some paint-stripper and turn the lights off - there we are, instant nightclub!
The other offerings in this four-tracker all exhibit the same painstaking production skills: every pop, click and burble sounds close to the eardrum, despite the previously mentioned fulsome bass elements. Thaebis's mix will permit a quick outing on cheap headphones; I suspect that it will also allow a thong-meltingly loud blast through a nightclub system. The first track, Eartrick, tricks the ear with numerous panned and chorused clicks 'n' cuts; the second, Empty Box, makes good use of low-passed reverberating bits 'n' bobs (copyright Grove Dictionary of Music), and the final track, Metronoise, is one of those minimal tracks whose incessant noises off drag the listener into head-nodding nirvana.
If you enjoy this album, please think about sending (the outrageously cool) Inoquo netlabel and Andrey/A7 a "thank you" email. While you're at it, ask them why they haven't got a Paypal donation box. Perhaps it's because the best things in life are free.
It's a shame that Thaebis isn't a CD instead of purely a netlabel release. If it were, you could enjoy the front cover and then, eager to see the rear of the jewel case, flip the bird. Ahem. I'll shut up now.
A7 - Thaebis (link to zipped album and individual files)
The title of one of CTW's first posts, "Free Music is Rubbish, isn't it?" summarised the general public's position regarding music that is given away free of charge. If the music is given away for nothing, ipso facto it must be worthless and therefore not worth downloading. Why else would millions of people prefer to copy and transfer thousands of pirated commercial mp3s on bit-torrents? Even though the music they receive illegally is now free, it was once worth something - so it must still be worth listening to, even though it is now, erm, free. We have arrived at a situation where all songs are free but some songs are more free than others.
*CTW explodes in a mish-mash of pretentious paraphrasing and poor grammar*
Similarly, how are musicians expected to earn a living if these amateurish Creative Commons bozoes are going to barge in with their free albums and entice tone-deaf customers away from them? Isn't free music going to destroy the music industry?
Well, no, not if you're talented, famous and slap a Creative Commons licence on your album.
According to Creative Commons.org, the top-selling album at Amazon's mp3 store in 2008 was Ghosts I-IV by Nine Inch Nails. Ghosts I (nine high-fidelity and DRM-free tracks plus a PDF full of gorgeous photos) is available completely free of charge from NIN's website, but millions of people chose to pay for it and II-IV, either as a show of solidarity, as a gesture of gratitude or simply because Amazon made it convenient for fans to splash the cash. Should those lovely, generous people care to investigate further, they'll find that the entire opus, Ghosts I-IV, is also available from the capacious archive.org for precisely no money whatsoever.
Here's a taster: 1 Ghosts I, which is not a speaker-busting avalanche of outrageously heavy rock music, and 8 Ghosts I, which is not a somnolent piano piece with added ambient flavour. Piquant, non?
I'm not denying that Trent Reznor's fame gives him a huge advantage over the common-or-garden CC artist. But kudos to NIN for releasing the album in such a fashion and delivering a roundhouse kick to the smug features of the ghoulish credit crunch. If only they could do the same to the greedy and idiotic bankers and politicians responsible for the mess.
If you'd like to pick up another free album that reminds you of Nine Inch Nails, you could always try the completely free, new, and CC-licensed album The Slip, from the world's most accurate tribute band, Nine Inch Nails. Yes, they're at it again.
Goths, grungies and emos: ho!
One last thought: what would you rather have "CC" stand for?
Just about the rarest thing in netaudio land is a good vocal. Either the singing is poor, the mix is terrible or the lyrics are execrable - often all three. Vocals are difficult, hence the preponderance of instrumental music in the music-for-nothing world.
In O.C.D.N.T.N.T., Thomas P. Karni has called on various vocal talents (please see the website for individual credits), sampled their performances, chopped them up, shoved them in a blender and then popped them into an upfront mix (courtesy of Brian Gardner) that jumps out of your earphones. Push the button and listen to Thomas P. Karni - Pull The Trigger. See what I mean?
Most of the other songs on this nine-track EP straight outta Israel have the same qualities: stuttering vocals, superbly rhythmical glitches, in-your-face bass and a distinct lack of snare drums. It's the last factor that gives the dense tunes room to breathe and enables the sampling fun to ensue. The electro synths, smash cuts and playground vocals of Ultra Static Machine, for example, pack a quick-fire musical punch. Room.303 (the "." is not silent) tells the creepy, glitchy tale of nefarious secret agent activities before Yonathan Milo's sax bursts into the room with a jolly jazz lick and serenades some gorgeous vocal harmonies into the echoing distance. The rest of O.C.D.N.T.N.T. is like that: full of unexpected little tics and foibles. There's also some crunchy electro, genre fans.
The final song, Green Pills Pink and Blue, is the free bottle of water after the nightclub exertions of the rest of the album. It's a lullaby about how society, while insisting that children must be protected from bad drugs, is quite happy to ply unruly kids with ritalin and other behavioural control medication. Imagine a particularly peevish Roald Dahl poem orchestrated by Lionel Bart, although Dahl never penned anything quite as pithy as:
Central nervous system,
Central nervous system,
Central nervous system,
Fuck.
Quite. (Tsila Piran, on vocals and lyrics, has talent.) It's a lovely refrain too, the type of tune that you'll hum to yourself before realising that you're the only one doing it and the last person in the railway carriage to notice. Oh, alright. I'll break my one-song-per-review rule. God, I'm lovely. Thomas P. Karni - Green Pills Pink and Blue.
O.C.D.N.T.N.T. is released free of charge, but if you want to say thanks or give a tip you can choose the "donate" option on Thomas's website ...and see that he still hasn't got a working payment facility, even though he does say "thank you" in advance. Bless. Let's hope a few more downloads will encourage him to get the begging bowl out. Failing that, email him and say that he's made a terrific album and should make some more.
You'll have to forgive the spacey album cover - there isn't one, so I had to improvise (with permission). Hey, the Beatles didn't put a title on the White album. It's not that I couldn't get the software to work...
Recent Comments