Chouk Bwa & the Angstromers: Vodou Ale and the Loas

 Review and discussion on Vodou Ale, the 2019 collaboration between Chouk Bwa and the Angstromers.

2021 Album Preview Series: October Showcase

Preview of new music in rotation for October, including releases by:

Arlo Parks – Collapsed in Sunbeams (2021)
Gaspard Auge – Escapades (2021)
Hans Zimmer – Dune OST (2021)
Weezer – OK Human (2021)
The Armed – Ultrapop (2021)
TEKE::TEKE – Shirushi (2021)

Relevant Links:

Full Arlo Parks performance
Full TEKE::TEKE performance
Full Weezer performance
Text post on Jodorowsky’s Dune OST

2021 Album Preview Series: Variety is the Spice

 Overview of September listening, including:

The Who – The Who Sell Out (1967) The Knife – Shaking the Habitual (2013) Chad VanGaalen – The World’s Most Stressed Out Gardener (2021) Mdou Moctar – Afrique Victime (2021) Our Oceans – Our Oceans (2015) The Sons of Kemet – Black to the Future (2021)

Relevant Links: Previous post on Mdou Moctar

2021 Album Preview Series: Summer Solstice Special

Short reviews and discussion on:

Yes – From a Page EP (2019)
Flying Lotus – Cosmogramma (2010)
Onipa – We No Be Machine (2020)
Field Music – Flat White Moon (2021)
Spelling – Mazy Fly (2019)
Gabrielle Roth and the Mirrors -  Selected Works 1985-2005(2020)



Relevant Links:

Previous post on Arc of Life
Text post on Field Music

Album Preview Series 2021: The Aesthetics of April

Overview of new music in April, 2021, including albums by:

Chouk Bwa and the Angstromers – Vodou Ale (2020)
Aimee Mann – The Forgotten Arm (2005)
Ghost of Vroom – Ghost of Vroom vol. 1 (2021)
Thought Gang – Modern Music (2018)
Arc of Life – Arc of Life (2021)
Wobbler – Dwellers of the Deep (2020)

Relevant Posts:

Source for the Ghost of Vroom images

The Yes Open Your Eyes post

Mdou Moctar's Ilana (The Creator): From Silk Road to Cell Phones

Review and Discussion on Mdou Moctar’s Ilana (The Creator), with a focus on the cultural exchanges that surround his unique style. 

Relevant Links:

Hama’s Houmeissa

D’addario’s Guitar Power interview

Göransson's "Black Panther:" Hegemony and Representation

Review and discussion on Ludwig Göransson’s 2018 score to Marvel’s Black Panther movie.

Relevant Links:

The Making of the Black Panther Soundtrack with Ludwig Goransson

Song Exploder Podcast ep. 131

Fela Kuti's Zombie: Weapons of Power and Practice

Review and discussion on Fela Kuti’s 1977 album Zombie with special guest commentator Digital D.

Relevant links

A old text post on the Budos Band and Fela.

Zombie was a top 10 album for me in 2004

Digital D’s Soundcloud page

Summer II Overview ep.2: Everyone Out of the Pool!

More previews of Summer listening, including

The Flaming Lips – The King’s Mouth: Music and Songs (2019)

Astronoid – Astronoid (2019)

Ulver – The Assassination of Julius Caeser (2017)

The Bombay Royale – You Me Bullets Love (2012)

Julie Licata – resound/unsound (2019)

black midi – Schlagenheim (2019)

Relevant Links

Astronoid’s Air: The Craft of Dream-Thrash

Math Rock Part One: Rumah Sakit and Don Caballero

Hama's Houmeissa and Afroretrofuturism(?)

Review and discussion of Hama’s African synthwave album Houmeissa (2019)

Sahel Sounds Website

Flashback to the Oughts: 2005

Every year since I started this blog, I put myself through a soul-wrenching struggle to create a satisfying “best-of” list.  I don’t have too much trouble coming up with representative entries.  That aspect is mostly a matter of record-keeping, which kind of takes care of itself in the process of writing.  Ordering these titles in a way that will stand the test of time, however, is a bit more difficult.  Occasionally, some albums that I have ranked very highly in their respective years have not come off of the shelf much since, while other lower ranked entries and honorable mentions have proven to be more durable.

Creating a “best-of” list retroactively for a year gone by is no less problematic, but the issues of accuracy and durability seem to be inverted.  This is especially the case in the early oughts, as record stores were still kind of a thing.  If I did not purchase an album on Amazon back then, I have few definitive calendrical references for what I was listening to and when.  The slippery nature of memory resists definitive sequencing, making accuracy a primary concern.  Once I can sketch out a clear picture of what was in rotation during a given year, however, hindsight allows these selections to fall into order relatively easily.  

The list for 2005, however, has been probably the biggest struggle yet. The records from that year hang in between online purchases and record store walk-ins. Stitching these together with my memory episodes was particularly difficult because I was existing at the crossroads between being a band director, a graduate student in ethnomusicology, and being increasingly involved in my "significant other's" world.

10. Green Carnation - Light of Day, Day of Darkness: I listened to this hour-long track a whole lot in 2005 on my old Zen player as I walked to Cross-Cultural Ensemble rehearsal with my Stick strapped across my back.  Although I have not listened to it much since, upon revision I found it pleasantly familiar, if a bit thin in the production department.

9. Porcupine Tree - Deadwing:  Although it may not be apparent from Lazarus, which is included above, Deadwing was Porcupine Tree’s heaviest album to date.  It also followed their most commercially successful album and I have always felt that the writing, which is still more nuanced than most, suffered a bit under the burden of following its standard.  

8. Panjabi MC - Beware: By 2005, my ethnomusicological studies had given me a deepened appreciation for intercultural popular music and a growing interest in the music of India.  Not only did Beware sit at the intersection of these two fields, it was catchy enough to win over my significant other.

7. The New Pornographers - Twin Cinema: Although I had been introduced to The New Pornographers during my late 90's power pop jag, it was 2005 before I wandered into a record store in Massachusetts and picked up Twin Cinema. I have been a staunch advocate ever since.

6. Frank Zappa - Studio Tan:  Zappa’s music was always finding its way from used CD bins into my collection during the oughts, so although his music was ever-present, it is nearly impossible to unravel specific dates.  I do know for certain, however, that I took a Summer class on the music of Frank Zappa in 2005 and Studio Tan was in heavy rotation during that time, along with Broadway the Hard Way and several volumes of the You Can’t Do That on Stage Anymore series.

5. Fountains of Wayne - Utopia Parkway:  Perhaps one of the best post-Jellyfish power pop albums in my collection, mostly because it is stylistically distinct.  For the most part, Fountains of Wayne relies on outstanding songwriting more than overt semiotic nostalgia for their success.

4. Ramnad Krishnan - Vidwan: Music of South India: Songs of the Carnatic Tradition: On the suggestion of my Indian music teacher, this was the first album of Indian classical music that I ever purchased. Although I started unpacking it in 2005, I am still unraveling its nuances.

3. Rumah Sakit - Rumah Sakit: To this day, the details about Rumah Sakit remain vague - they are references to them everywhere, but it is difficult to pin down their origins and history. Nevertheless, my expanding appreciation for rhythmic complexity in Indian music allowed this album to spark my interest in so-called "math rock."

2. The White Stripes - Elephant: In direct contrast to all of the deeply complex stuff I was into in 2005, Elephant's focus on low-technique rock songwriting rose to the top of the heap. Pardon the video in the playlist, by the way - I will always remember showing that to the Pop Music and American Culture class I was TA for a couple of years later.

Album of the Year: 2005

1. Brendan Benson - The Alternative to Love: Although I was a fan of Brendan Benson's since One Mississippi, this album convinced me that he could do no wrong as a songwriter. There isn't a single dud in the bunch.

Layers of Thanksgiving: "Junun" Over Dinner

I was really looking forward to having a full week for Thanksgiving this year. I would have some quality time with the wife and kid before I went down for the big annual event on Padre Island with the extended family. Inevitably, having a lot of free time with the Little One eventually results in a little Netflix-for-Kids, and I was very surprised to find that there were absolutely no thanksgiving specials up. Not a one. There were, however, lots and lots of poorly animated b-rate Christmas features. The best I could find was a grainy, third-party posting of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving on YouTube. It has been up for a couple of years, as if no one cares enough to challenge its legality!



I think that this, along with the scads of Christmas sale ads popping up in my feed early in the week, caused me to be a little defensive about Thanksgiving this year. I have always felt that it is its own holiday with its own feeling, and I dislike the sense that it is increasingly becoming subsumed by consumerism related to a totally separate holiday.  I am starting to get the feeling Thanksgiving has devolved into nothing more than some time off to let the public get some shopping done.

Taking matters into my own hands, I organized my own little informal Thanksgiving dinner and invited my bandmates from Ethnos over. We are all super-busy, and as we get closer to the end of the semester it is safe to assume that we would only get to be more so. It seemed like a good opportunity to hang out before the holidays scatter us to the wind.

One catalyst for our conversation was Junun.  I acquired this album with the intent of listening to it on beach walk like I did with Barrett a few years ago.  Long before its recent release, a brief article about the cross-cultural collaboration that produced Junun generated quite a bit of personal excitement.  Its authorship is so complex that it took the whole staff at Waterloo Records to figure out where the CD was filed.

The most visible contributor is Jonny Greenwood of Radiohead fame, and going into the store I was aware that he was working with an Indian ensemble called the Rajastan Express. The surprise, however, was Shye Ben Tzur, an Israeli musician who is trained in Indian styles.  Although a superficial listen to the album doesn’t bring traditional Jewish music to mind, his songwriting contributions placed the album in the “Israel” section of the international music.

The album as a whole is really quite incredible - perhaps even compelling enough to be considered a very late contender for album of the year.  Superficially, it is easy to indulge in the exotic aspects of the album, but the harmonic environment provided by the guitar work and the subtle electronic atmospheres frame Junun’s “Indian-ness” within a decidedly contemporary field. Even more layered is Shye Ben Tzur’s Hebrew lyrics performed in ecstatic Indian styles. Certainly, with the current state of the Middle East, his identity structure makes a political statement that should be read as particularly relevant.

This statement was not lost on us. My bandmates are a very diverse group, with members from India, Taiwan, and Pakistan, and each of us had different perspectives about the way the various contributions of Junun fit into a cohesive statement. I was enthusiastic about its textural overlap with Kid A, while our tabla player nodded his head in approval to its roots in Indian street music. The exchange was as layered and engaging as the music itself.  As I have said many times in the past, I am very grateful for the opportunity to know and create with these outstanding individuals. Spending time and conversing with them, however, reminded me of just how thankful I am for having such open-minded and diverse friends.

Oh, and shameless self-promotion: The band's website is right here.  Check us out....

Mr. Bungle Goes to Persia: Ethnos and the Secret Chiefs 3

Late in 2013 I was invited to by some ethnomusicology students to play in an original world music crossover ensemble. To me, this invitation seemed auspicious.  Although I don’t think fate dictates our path, I do think that things happen for a reason. It’s not always easy, however, to tell if the path path you have chosen is authentic or self-serving. For example, I often wonder if I took up Chapman Stick because I was “supposed to,” or if it was some desperate personal gambit to forge an identity for myself after the divorce. Perhaps the meaning of my ethnomusicological studies is yet to be revealed, or maybe they were merely an unnecessary and expensive exercise in egoism. Playing with this group, however, which came to be called Ethnos, seemed to make sense of so many disparate aspects of my experience that I could not help but accept.

I was nervous, though, because when I got the call, my Chapman Stick chops were nowhere near what they were during my master's studies. I have always grown as a musician, however, by putting myself in difficult musical situations and working my way through it. This is certainly where I was when I started in this group, but I was fortunate. They were quite patient with me as I got (and continue to get) my Stick playing where I want it to be.

This was to be an all-original group, and not one tethered to the conceptual restraints of a university, which I found particularly exciting. Authenticity has never been quite as important to me as influence, and it always seems to hang in the air in the academic setting.  The majority of our book currently consists of reimagined arrangements of popular music from around the world, but I have secretly been thinking about what sort of original tunes we could generate. For inspiration, I revisited an album that captured my attention a couple of years ago: Book M by The Secret Chiefs 3.

No, I don't know what's up with the cloaks.  Let's move on.

Secret Chiefs 3 is actually a collective of musicians guided by Ex-Mr. Bungle guitarist Trey Spruance.  Under his direction, the Secret Chiefs 3 have multiple configurations and identities that they operate under depending on the musicians and styles involved in any particular recording. Book M is one of their more ethnically influenced recordings, rather like “Mr. Bungle goes to Persia.”

The album’s exotic impressions partially stem from its modal composition. It deftly dodges the monotony that often arises in modal music, however, by using complex, intuitive rhythmic structures alongside contemporary techno and metal styles. If this sounds erratic, it is, but the album’s allure reverberates forth from the collision of these disparate elements. It is by sheer force of will and conviction that it works, but in the final analysis, Book M coheres into a singular statement incredibly well.



While The Secret Chiefs 3 hardly fit the current instrumentation of Ethnos, I find their general compositional approach and intensity very appealing. I am currently working up some compositions using very rudimentary versions of what I see in the music of the Secret Chiefs 3. While quite a bit may be lost in the interpretation, in the end that is what I hope will make it original.

Discovering the Shakuhachi: Aikido and Ethno

When I began practicing aikido in earnest in 1998, I was fortunate to walk into a tight-knit community of Texas dojos that stretched from San Antonio to Denton. I remember taking every opportunity to practice at a new dojo in a different town. While I certainly had personal reasons for starting to practice in the first place, this sense of community often kept me going. Since then, teachers have retired and passed on, and I would love to be able to say that we, as a body of practitioners, have navigated these losses gracefully, but this has not been the case. Instead, due to the egos of individuals who feel entitled to some sort of authority and recognition, the organization has splintered. Perhaps Western culture just isn’t ready for the kind of lesson that O-Sensei was trying to teach with aikido.

Aikido practice, however, also generated a personal interest in Japanese culture. When I finished my ethnomusicology degree, it dawned on me, perhaps too late, that my martial arts experience might dovetail nicely into Japanese music studies. Clearly, if there was any culture in the world I really wanted to “immerse” myself, it was Japan. Towards the end of my research, I began to think about ways to use instruments as a lens to view culture. For me to continue on this research path, it made sense to adopt a Japanese instrument.

I started to look into traditional Japanese music. One of my favorite recordings I unearthed was the Nonesuch album Japan: Traditional Vocal and Instrumental Music by the Ensemble Nipponia. It represents a remarkable variety of traditions, but it’s also unified by the outstanding musicianship of the ensemble’s members. While all of the performances are remarkable, the shakuhachi performances really caught my attention. The track Edo Lullaby, which is an original arrangement of a traditional melody, singlehandedly convinced me to adopt the shakuhachi.



I procured an instrument and was very fortunate to find an experienced teacher. I took lessons for nearly two years with the intent of focusing on the shakuhachi in a PhD program. I have not entirely given up on this research agenda, but life has put the immediacy of doctoral work on hold for the time being. Japan: Traditional Vocal and Instrumental Music, however, remains, and has evolved into a personal and family favorite. Both my wife and daughter enjoy the album beyond its merely exotic exterior (I think). As I revisited it earlier this year, I found that The Little One particularly likes Ozatsuma for its angular, frantic energy.



My genuine appreciation for the aesthetic beauty of this music assures me of one thing: my ethnomusicological degree broadened my horizons. It gave me an irreplaceable experience that permeates the breadth of my musical experiences. When I finished my degree, however, I found myself back on the path that I left. I ended up with a challenging and rewarding job as a band director at a title one school to begin paying off my student debt. I genuinely enjoy what I do, but I sometimes wonder about the meaning of my studies, not with a sense of regret, but rather with anticipation. I suspect that their true worth has not yet been revealed.

Soundtrack to the Snowpacalypse: Wild Belle's "Isles"

This whole “snowpacalypse” thing has gotten a bit out of hand here in Austin. The first time, it was fun. I went on a foot trek to get some coffee on streets that were noticeably free of ice, snow, or danger. The second time, it was embarrassing. It seemed as if someone had merely looked at the thermometer and decided it was just too cold to go to school. It might have been understandable if there was a reasonable expectation of rain, but the chances were at around 15% - hardly enough to justify a delay.

This was starting to get frustrating. These repeated closings were starting to threaten our summer break. I have no desire to celebrate the 4th of July in the band hall. More immediately, UIL Concert and Sightreading Contest is happening at the beginning of March, and no amount of added days is going to make up for the rehearsal time that I am losing due to shutdowns and mock STARR testing. The culture of fear that we live in is going to have a direct effect on my student’s success, a fact that I find almost intolerable.

Make no mistake, however - it is nice to have unexpected family time. I have really enjoyed spending some time with the Little One and the wife. We’ve all been in close quarters, which means that my listening habits have veered towards the accessible. Fortunately, I received the absolutely stellar Isles from Wild Belle in a pretty robust stack of birthday CDs, and this album has emerged as the "Soundtrack to the Snowpacalypse."



Wild Belle obviously defers to reggae and other afro-Caribbean music. The sunny, beachside association that I often associate with reggae styles, however, is absent on Isles. Instead, the throaty, sultry voice of lead singer Natalie Bergman and the distorted bari sax of her brother Elliot perfectly complimented the lone cup of coffee I had in the house that I was using to beat back the bright, cold day outside.

There are a whole range of interesting issues that can be addressed anytime there is a cultural schism between a music’s point of origin and its current form. No, they are not from Jamaica. Yes, they are white. No, they have probably never lived in a shanty, but they can refer to them out of respect for the style. None of this is really weird in today’s musical landscape. There are no record bins anymore, so it doesn’t matter if you call them “reggae” or “alternative.” They cross over, and in the process, write excellent, catchy tunes with a distinctive, consistent vibe that permeates the entire album.



I was listening to Isles last night as I was driving home from the dojo on a completely clear road when I heard that the school districts were closing today for the third time in two weeks. I refused to believe they would do such a thing until I started fielding calls from my CrossFit crew, asking if 5 am session was still on. I dismissed their fears, and told them that if they slipped on the sidewalk on the way to their car, not to come. I did not expect anything to actually happen, and sure enough, nothing happened. It was cold, of course, but there was not even any water on the ground outside, much less ice. We knocked out that WOD and I went back to sleep, to be met by unsettling dreams of embarrassing scores at UIL.

S U R V I V E: Staring Down an Invasion in Tuscon

My friend The Best Man and I have been promising each other that we would eventually crack the underground Austin synth scene. He recently discovered a band called S U R V I V E but alas, their album was only available in sold- out limited edition vinyl and downloadable MP3. As much as I value the suggestions of friends, this limitation would have probably kept them out of rotation permanently.

Last weekend, however, in a direct attempt to stare down my remaining apprehensions about heavy lifting, I attended a CrossFit Olympic Lifting Instructors Course in Tuscon, Arizona. This was to be a quick solo trip, so any music I planned to bring for the plane ride and layovers would have to be in soft format. It seemed like an opportunity to give S U R V I V E a shot.



This ended up being a smart move. While I still admit that I would like to see the album cover professionally printed and mounted in a jewel case, the content of the album is shady and immersive in a way that can best be delivered through earphones. I played S U R V I V E through my phone when I was walking around Tuscon, which ended up being quite a bit more than I had initially planned. Once I got a feel for the area between my hotel and CrossFit Works, I found that I preferred a 30 minute walk surrounded by distant mountains and an epic alien invasion soundtrack to an 8 minute (and $10) drive with an awkward Russian cabbie.



S U R V I V E takes more than one page from Jean Micheal Jarre’s early playbook, particularly the ethereal and dynamic Equinoxe, Oxygene, and Les Chantes Magetiques trilogy. Jarre was playful and exploratory on these synth masterpieces. In contrast, S U R V I V E conjures a dark, ominous, and almost gothic tone using the gloomy synth sounds of late 80s Depeche Mode. While other electronic projects like the F*ck Buttons might use more contemporary technology to produce a broader variety of sounds, S U R V I V E does a whole lot more musically with much less.



S U R V I V E is one of several local synth bands that orbit around the Austin vintage synth shop Switched On, and they are so underground that they almost don’t exist. There are a few reviews of their sporadic live shows that indicate that their performances are epic. Aside from these, some links that lead to album download, and an intermittently updated Facebook page, there is very little about S U R V I V E online. I can barely figure out if or when they are playing next, but I would be interested in seeing them live.

From what I have seen, however, they seem to have some sort of following in Germany. While that’s not too surprising, considering the history of synth music in what is Kraftwerk’s homeland, I have never had to do a Euros conversion to purchase an album from a local band before.

Not too long ago, I became a bit snobby about listening only to local music, because I was convinced that it held the potential to stand outside of the agenda of the record industry. “Independent music” is, paradoxically, more mainstream now, and has its own political agenda that musicians have to navigate. S U R V I V E is one of those bands that purposefully fly under the radar, doing something not for fortune or fame, but because they have a genuine love for what they do. They are clearly passionate about the untapped potentials of traditional analog synthesizers and their current relevance, and their adoration of these instruments infuses their music with conviction.

Two Psychedelic Margins: Curating the World

The late 60s were undoubtedly a revolutionary time in Western popular music. The overarching influence of this revolution, however, was not confined to the West. After World War II, Western popular music served a multitude of agendas worldwide, and, as a result, had wide influence on the local music of many cultures. Some might argue that this was unfortunate, because it diluted the traditional styles that were already endangered due to colonialism. On the other hand, some of my favorite “world” music is the kind in which a detectable local flavor seeps into the anonymous gray of globalized Western popular music. Because these styles were marginalized at the time, they existed briefly, and under the threat of extinction. There are, however, an increasing number of devoted curators who expend quite a bit of time and energy restoring and releasing music from this period that would otherwise be lost.

For example, I love a lot of West African popular music, particularly from the late 60s and early 70s.  Ideologically, This region was coming out from under European colonial rule, and artists found James Brown’s “black and proud” message inspiring in their music.  The looming figure of Fela Kuti, the creator of Afrobeat, casts a shadow that eclipses a lot of the other artists from this era, though, so taking the next step in this arena can be somewhat daunting.  I was fortunate in 2005 to have stumbled across a great compilation called World Psychedelic Classics 3: Love's the Real Thing.  This is an excellent document of localized pop styles from the 60s.



Generally speaking, I am not a fan of compilations. Surveys like these can be effective, however, when they are carefully curated and remastered to provide a unified listening experience despite the diversity they represent.  Love's the Real Thing does this pretty well. 

For Christmas in 2010, I got a hold of a similar compilation from an entirely different region, Thailand. The Sound Of Siam : Leftfield Luk Thung, Jazz And Molam From Thailand 1964 – 1975 represents a very interesting syncretism between localized Thai music and Western popular styles.  Be warned - it isn’t always as easy on the ears as Love's the Real Thing. There is one track in particular where the bass guitar is just plain out of tune, and goes further out of tune as the song progresses. Casting aside the interest generated by cultural crossroads, within the first three beats of this track, I have a general feeling of oncoming dread.  The rest of the album, however, paints a vivid and adventurous picture of the popular music in this region during this revolutionary time.



I read somewhere that this style of Thai popular music was on local radio in Vietnam during the war, which obviously I can’t corroborate. It seems possible, though, considering these recordings were most likely printed and broadcast through the increasing influence of what would become the Japanese media machine.  Unfortunately, even the most accessible iterations of Asian and African popular music remained unheard in the West.  It boggles the imagination to consider how much the world would have instantaneously shrunk if just one of these groups appeared at Woodstock, but having their recordings to appreciate today, even out of context, is worth the investment.

Yamantaka//Sonic Titan: Killing the Buddha With Noise

For a fan of both Japanese culture and prog rock, Yamatanka//Sonic Titan seems to be a dream come true. From behind Noh-inspired stage makeup and elaborate stage sets, they emit a compelling contemporary experimental rock sound that has a noticeable Japanese flavor. But conceptually, they are far more complicated than merely being a Japanese band. In actuality, Yamatanka//Sonic Titan’s members are a collective of Asian-Canadian musicians whose constructed image is not just Japanese, but an open challenge their own pan-Asian authenticity. This heavy-handed ideology could easily ring hollow if the band didn’t deliver musically, but ultimately Yamantaka//Sonic Titan’s alchemic genre-jumping crystallizes into a distinctive statement.

Despite being comprised of a pastiche of styles, their debut YT//ST maintains a respectable coherency. The album opens like the soundtrack to a rainy anime film, recalling rolling credits from Ghost in the Shell and Akira. Although this attention to atmosphere persists throughout, YT//ST''s overall palate is much broader than pentatonic and open 5th soundscapes. Yamatanka//Sonic Titan also subverts the meditative qualities of their Buddhist upbringing with noise, sometimes resulting in an intensity comparable to Battles, Tool’s deeper cuts, or, at times, perhaps even the assaulting noise rock of the Boredoms. YT//ST mostly unfolds between these extremes, however, creating a challenging riff-injected shoegaze dream-pop reminiscent of Mew and early Radiohead with just a sprinkle of proggish organ pyrotechnics for good measure.



Yamatanka//Sonic Titan’s explicit mission statement is to incorporate and reinterpret cultural material from groups whose traditions have been pushed aside by modernity. It may seem that the day for stage makeup has passed, but like Peter Gabriel-era Genesis, YT//ST stands on its own while the band’s performance art enhances, rather than replaces, their music. The stage presence and meditative drones that Yamantaka//Sonic Titan employ might be met with confusion out of context, but have a deeper meaning when couched from within their overall concept.



On YT//ST, the band’s members explore the authenticity of their own Asian descent in a contemporary Western framework, and in the process create an intriguing debut that delivers on multiple levels.  From a certain point of view, music has an inherent responsibility to challenge the listener with social issues. Yamantaka//Sonic Titan don’t try to speak for these groups in the rather blunt way that U2, Midnight Oil, or other politicized bands might.  Instead, they mine their own hybridized identities as resources for inspiration, attempting to synthesize something both novel and meaningful.

Gang Gang Dance's Sinister "Eye Contact"

After discovering Gang Gang Dance at the top of an interesting year-end list, I suspected that I would have to order Eye Contact online. I was surprised to find it on the shelf at a local record store during a close-out sale. When I plopped the album in the car player for a preview, however, I thought it may have been a dud. The opening track started as a meandering ambient experiment, and ran counter to the online samples that initially piqued my interest. Patience is a virtue, though, and right as I pulled into a parking place I heard the distinctive sound of live drums. I was soon mesmerized, and I listened to Glass Jar in its entirety.



After this initial experience, Eye Contact became a bit of an obsession, and one in which I have not fully recovered. The album is experimental electronica, combining house music motifs, live instruments, and a variety of Eastern timbres into head-bobbing grooves with a vaguely exotic flavor. With as much as it has going on, Eye Contact might easily devolve into clutter, but from a sound engineering standpoint the album is really quite remarkable. It just sounds good. Lead singer Lizzi Bougatsos is an attention-grabbing focal point as well, employing her voice as a flexible sound-producing instrument as if Kate Bush took a turn as a Bollywood star.

Rather than being organized into standard verses and choruses, many tracks from Eye Contact are structurally linear. They start in one place and slowly evolve, which is why my first impression of Glass Jar was misleading. There is a sense of journey in their music, rather like jazz or the output jam bands, that can’t be appreciated from a cursory listen. The compositional structure of the tracks, however, differentiates their organic dance style from purely improvisational styles. They bear the potential for improvisation, but also cohere into songs through unifying themes and timbres.

Although I try to use “official” videos as examples when I can, I sometimes find fan-made videos to be revealing. There is an almost sinister, nocturnal overtone to Gang Gang Dance’s work that vaguely reminds me of Mew. The author of the unofficial Glass Jar video above seems to have picked up on this. As I continued to look for other examples, I found a mashup on Mindkilla with a similar tone. Both of these videos are unofficial, but by appropriating existing animation, they emphasize the nightmarish, hallucinatory overtones in Gang Gang Dance’s music.



I have only represented Eye Contact with two tracks, but the album is consistent, flows well, and coheres into a holistic listening experience.  I highly suggest it.  Furthermore, if the enthusiasm I have for this album remains in the coming months, even at this early date, I can confidently predict that it will make the year-end list.

Allergies, Gamelan, and The "Universal Language,"

When my allergies hit, it usually starts as a subtle and distinctively raw numbness behind my nose that inevitably progresses into at least a head-bloated daze, if not an uncontrollable cough, within a few days. I’ve learned to suppress it somewhat, thanks to my wife’s insistence that I adopt the neti pot. Things happen, however, in the two or three days that it takes for me to chase it out, and I never know what form it will take in the end. This time around, I lost my voice. By Wednesday morning, I could barely croak anything out. There was a temptation to stay home, of course, but I really didn’t feel bad – I just could not talk. My stupid work ethic compelled me to go ahead and push through a day of teaching band.

I gotta say that I was pretty proud of my kids for having a productive day. Aside from taking roll with the assistance of a loudspeaker, I spoke probably a total of two sentences in each class. I had a few generalized cues written on the board for reference, but I mostly modeled and mimed my instructions and feedback all morning. As long as I could keep their attention and play, we got things done. In some classes, we even had an improvement in focus and behavior.

It is commonly stated that “music is the universal language,” and stories of effective non-verbal communication between musicians like this one often serve as a justification for this claim. It’s a really problematic assumption, though. Granted, both language and music are forms of communication, and they are universal features of humanity, but they are not the same thing. Language is very good at relating cognitive ideas, but music conveys something that is implicitly non-verbal. Its essential meaning lies beyond the capacity of words, which is why talking about it is so difficult.

For example, I have been getting my ethno on listening to Gamelan of Central Java vol. XII: Pangkur One for the past couple of weeks. I have some experience in gamelan, but mainly in the Balinese style.  In the 16th century, Islam was introduced into Indonesia and displaced the Hindu/Buddhist population to Bali, causing a divergence in the two styles. The structure of Balinese and Javanese gamelan is fundamentally the same, but they realize this underlying construction in a radically different way.

Having only a superficial knowledge of Islam, and even less comfort with its Javanese iteration, I can only speculate as to the way that its worldview is expressed through its gamelan styles. From a practical standpoint, however, the emergence of Muslim courts had a profound effect. The loud, flashy, attention-grabbling styles that are now found in Balinese outdoor festivals would most likely be cacophonous in an indoor format. Instead, Javanese styles seem more austere and contemplative.

The liner notes for Pangkur One are described as “authoritative,” but they still assume a lot about the listener. They provide structural observations based on time cues, but the explanations freely use insider’s language. The translations of the text, however, depict themes and advice for good, moral living 

We set aside the needs of the self
For the pleasure of educating children
Through good songs
Worded beautifully and with care 

That's not from this particular clip, but it did catch my eye in the liner notes.  Preach on, sisters!

Topics like this are relatively ubiquitous across many cultures, but in this case, the music that serves as their vehicle emanates my way from across a cultural border. As an outsider, I can’t glean the musician’s meaning or intention without crossing this border and embedding myself within the history that is embedded in every note. As a “universal language,” gamelan, like any music, is pretty opaque from the exterior. I don’t think, however, that because of this it is impossible for me to appreciate its sublime beauty and respect its status as an essentially human form of expression.