I take music very personally. I can’t help it. If I were to die today, most of my regrets would involve music on some level. For instance, I never experienced a Dead C, Pharoah Sanders or Leonard Cohen concert. I recently discovered certain avant-garde composers and have yet to delve into their vast back catalogues. To me, if an album fails to deliver its promise, the trespass ranks worse than most personal let downs. Most of the time, critical acclaim generates a promise. Many times, I listen to critically recommended albums because the critic entices me with his description of the album. Sometimes, the comparison of the album being reviewed to an album or band I favor sparks my interest.

I hate to write about music criticism’s pratfalls again but the past two weeks really caused me to take a good long look at my critical methods. An inherent laziness flows through rock journalism today. In describing an album, self-aggrandizement and exaggeration run rampant, as pretentious prove their music trivia wizardry before disgracing a handful of classic albums. I thought this laziness resulted from the lack of listening to an album but it really spurns from the need to flex the obscure-band-knowledge-muscle. I stand guilty of these crimes, too, but at least I attempt to shoot around them.

When writing a critique, your duty is twofold. Readers should gain a basic understanding of the album through your assessment and the valuation should provide where the album fits canonically. Readers hate condescension. Using ten-dollar words and making ultra-hip references fails to translate into readership. The audience wants to come as close as to hearing music the music at hand as possible through reading your review. Reading about some unfamiliar band fails to illustrate sound. Concreting a sound description by throwing a few examples of music acts may prove helpful but I hate reading stand alone band references. Very likely, the rest of your audience hates this methodology also. Without regular readers, no one cares about the criticism at hand.

Which brings me to my main point: classic albums should not be used as a reference point unless one draws an air-tight comparison. Really, for the love of music, stop comparing things to The Velvet Underground & Nico, The Stooges’ Funhouse or any other canonized album. Imagine if art critics compared every single painting in any given era of art to the Mona Lisa. Comparing new albums with the aforementioned albums is music criticism’s equivalent to this practice. Classic albums resonate with timeless music, great track selections and originality. Very few albums radiate with the spirit found on Funhouse. A concise, exciting album with perfect execution and track sequencing, Funhouse begins with lion roar riffage on “Down on the Street” and ends with a full-scale jungle riot on “L.A. Blues.” In between, the Ashton brothers and Iggy provide a glimpse into the derelict mind fueled by sex, drugs and dangerous guitar riffs. The album embodies the threat of rock and roll fully realized.

As with all classic albums, Funhouse sounds fresh today but bears evidence of the era in which the band created it. In comparing new albums to Funhouse, one denies significant historical and social changes adding to the progression of music. Iggy’s nihilistic lyrical excursions link to disillusionment with flower power. The mainstream failed to represent the Stooges. They dug sex, drugs and revolution but not the paisley paint and pansy posturing. Violence infected their hallucinatory visions as evidenced Iggy’s famous “television-ate-my-girlfriend” dream. Their music sounds like a bulldozer rolling over flower power.

Continually comparing new albums to classic ones devalues the classic work. Spin, Rolling Stone and every other major music magazine hailed The Strokes as the new Velvet Underground in 2001, although the Strokers music lacked VU’s urgency, inventive aesthetic or imagination. A new generation of music fans weaned at the teat of Julian Cassablanca already assumes the Velvet Underground sounds like a bunch of artless rich pretty boys.

Aside from the underlying implications, using certain classic albums as a comparative example just shows laziness on the writer’s part. The Stooges, Velvet Underground and the MC5 provide the easiest points of reference for a writer labeling an album as tuneful and artistically advanced. Often, the album in question lacks the power of classic albums but the critic wants to either pay his dues or heighten the new album’s credibility with a name-check.

Conversely, to compare new albums to classic records robs the new artwork at hand of a unique identity. If decades-old albums set a standard of beauty, we are setting an impossibly high bar for artists to high-jump over. The artists preoccupy themselves with aping styles pioneered 40 years ago instead of creating an original sound. No wonder this generation lacks originality and a distinctive voice. Hell, we can’t even gain an identifying generational label like “generation x,” “the me generation” or “the blank generation.”

This week’s picks:

Bruce Russell 21^st Century Field Hollers and Prison Songs (w.m.o/r, 2006; Rococo, 2007): As one-third of Dead C, Russell’s powerful feedback zig-zags set a high bar for future basement meanderings. The lo-fi recording technique on the band’s early albums furthered their noise textures by adding an extra layer of hiss and an air of mystery. One could theorize the band used recording equipment as an instrument, allowing it to expand on instrumental landscapes. 21^st Century Field Hollers and Prison Songs, a seamless venture into a parallel universe, builds on the tape experimentation of early Dead C, flowing from one experiment into the next with great ease. Each tune dons a pre-war blues title and each exhibits the feel of pre-war blues, although Russell uses a guitar like a percussion instrument and is more prone to use tape loops than acoustic instruments. Low-fidelity recording seems to be the common thread running through pre-war blues and Russell’s record, as many tunes contain his trademark fuzzy soundscapes. The dark, splintering groove of the first side mimics current hellish drones from harsh noise artists but shattered psychedelic guitar lines accentuate it, aligning it more with Nurse with Wound than Merzbow. “Kate’s Blues #3 [Death Letter]” continues in this vein, wrapping a black galaxy around a few shaky guitar mutters. Early Scott Walker-like vocals penetrate the tune, echoing into the dark atmosphere. “Nigerian Delta Oil Well Blues” continues the melting tape thread with backwards psych guitar zips creating headtrip techno before “Wehowsky’s Loop Blues” settles into musique concrete. Kitchen material clinks compliment the tune’s industrial din, as wind-up music box samples enter from a void and continually interrupt the piece. Air conditioning buzz permeates the tune, furthering the bleak atmosphere. Side two commences with the bouncing sound and stock car tape loop antics of “Black Car Blues.” Russell uses negative space to emulate the effect of cars racing around a track. The flickering of thick lo-fi recording amplifies negative space for an interesting experiment in and of itself. A few spare chords begin “Hiroshima Tourist Blues in Dub” and the song trots along like an old 78 with amplified scratches. Blips of Morricone fade in and pair with a wild slide guitar experiment to soundtrack a loner entering a desolate post-Civil War town. Like the rest of the album, it derives an antique feel from futuristic instrumentation.

Paul Kelday One Dimensional (Borft/UFO Mungo): Another loner with an analog synth. This record, comprised of recordings that originally appeared on reel-to-reels and cassettes from 1986 to 1990, wraps around the listener like a warm blanket slowly catching fire. Kelday seems like the bastard offspring of Zeit-era Tangerine Dream with an eye for dark hallucinations. Kelday’s lack of a biography adds to the record’s bleak atmosphere, as one mug-shot-style photo appears on the cover and the record contains limited production notes. His talent builds throughout the record and his compositions grow more complex. The strange analog synth worlds unravel at a lysergic pace, steadily warping thought patterns. These patterns pulsate, flicker and twist to a backbeat of moans and drones. Surprisingly, Kelday’s compositions venture pretty far into the darkness without becoming boring or channeling sci-fi laser drones. “Comet” plots the career trajectory of today’s synth molesters in the noise scene. As its unsettling pathway tunnels through underground dungeons, its cadence sways like a drunk about to crash. The second side begins with the horrific “Dehumanization Process,” in which voices fade from walls, break apart and strengthen as a pulsating synth pattern grounds the composition. “Gorgon” splays out with tantalizing electronic yells and slowly unveils warped carousel sounds. Limited edition of 300. Available from Fusetron and Enfant Terrible

That's all for now. More brewin' for later this week. Drop me a line at kobak77[at]yahoo[dot]com. Make sure to write a subject line that sets yourself apart from spam.

Subtlety requires revealing your cards in a natural progression not all at once. When you want something worth obtaining- be it a good job or a mate- finesse almost always comes into play. Working towards a goal often increases the value of the object at hand. Fighting and struggling for a particular spoil results in gruff feelings and, when rewarded, the negative emotions heighten the celebratory mood.

Compositions often function in the same manner when subtlety is utilized. Some artists mistake crescendos for subtlety. When creating a drone, turning the volume knob clockwise fails to equate subtlety. Artists who create effective compositions meditate on a particular shape or mood, adding to it steadily and easily with small brush strokes. Slowly forming shapes delight the listener as the process continues. As the artist perseveres, he shades in more colors and the scene becomes clearer. He holds the listener's emotions in his palm and toys with them. Once the artist completes the morph, the listener's undivided attention allows the artist to transcend time. When the composition commences, the passage of half hour amounts to only a handful of moments in the listener's mind, as the music keeps him entranced.

Lately, most of the music in my rotation requires undivided attention, as it slowly takes shape. From Walter Marchetti to William Basinski, worlds wherein exotic instrumentation paints beautiful scenes, adding to and defying expectations impressed upon the recorded sound. I still dig any well-planned, uniquely-executed musical form, from straight ahead rock 'n roll and its many subsidiaries to chamber music. Long, slow, repetitious trudges through ambient, tape loops, locked grooves or droning sound just seem to eloquently capture the mood generated by the fall.

Son of Earth mastered the art of subtlety through their engaging eight-year career. Working with meditative tones and a violent undercurrent, the band builds each tune from small, simple elements, heightening them until they eventually encompass the room. Much of Son of Earth's music functions like a Barnett Newman painting with strips of a singular tone. Many of the tunes remain soft with faint accentuations coloring the composition. Unlike their peers, the band often builds to a plateau instead of forcing a large finish. This allows the mood to linger and the ideas to stick with the listener. The style works so well and leaves so much area for exploration, the band consistently constructs albums with similar aesthetics that sound surprisingly refreshing and innovative.

Carhole still owns the title of my favorite Son of Earth album. The CDR presents 35 minutes of small sounds and big impact. Idea Fire Company parallels surface on both "Owl's Vector Speech" and "Walking the Transom," resulting from the band's ability to immerse the listener in sound while swaying the audience's mood. The tunes act as inversions of IFCO's large sound but influence the listener's mood through repetition and otherworldly tones. "Walking the Transon" steadily soaks the listener with waves of static, as a drill buzz and tapping appear on a rotating basis. "Owl's Vector Speech" buries repeating three-dimensional synth tones under an avalanche of one-dimensional ebbing and flowing mic-and-amp noise, with the latter eventually shape-shifting into a sound similar to the synth. Both tunes steadily work their way down mainlines and into the blood stream to entrance the mind.

On Pet, the band utilizes similar techniques but sound distinctly like Son of Earth, providing a great entry-point for those who are unfamiliar with the band. The band drops hints regarding outside influence but their trademark sound art technique. They seem more comfortable in their own skin, if only because dozens of imitators cannot conjure the same sustained audience interest as Son of Earth. Since their last album, 2006's Exotic Empire, legions of artists have sprung up around the nation and tried in vain to create the audio worlds Son of Earth seems to naturally emit.

"Pre-Earth Pt. 2" introduces the band's first proper full-length with chucks piercing splinters of guitar feedback into a minimalist void marked by soft inner space tones. Not exactly whats expected from a band known for their minimalist technique but, then again, the best artists continually defy expectation. Soon, though, the band treads familiar territory.

A few well-placed, crescendoing sound droplets emerge in the driving static of "An Elegant Use of Foliage and Grace" but retain a low volume. A few minutes in, a buzz saw cuts into the meditative drone, swallowing the tiny sound with one-dimensional massive low-end ring. The noise converges with a ghostly sci-fi pitch to birth an eerie glimpse into the underworld with floating electronic demon voices moaning from the abyss. As the ghostly sound parts for a faint hiss, the tune fades out, leaving a haunted air in the room.

"A Little Piece of White Cloth and Breath" marks Son of Earth's pinnacle, as Eastern electronic xylophone tones breed with unsettling atmospheric feedback strips to engender interstellar dialog. When the feedback steadily travels to the background, the xylophone tones venture in the bloodstream, through the spine and into the cerebral cortex, creating visions of monks setting themselves ablaze.

"First Breath" conveys a few Lambkin-isms, as the band makes use of domestic sounds. The composition first takes squelching radio tones, sharp high-pitched , and odd percussion, filling in vacancies with static. A door closes half-way through the composition and a tiny screech enters the picture, further disturbing the psyche. As distant speech becomes audible, the pitch changes shape, stealing the spotlight from its companion sounds. It grows wider then begins to flicker and fade like a distant star.

Son of Earth exhibits the power to worm its way into the psyche and impress upon though patterns. By slowly constructing sound sculptures, they carve every arc with care, resulting in either impatience or immersion from the audience. Total polarity. Ain't that the penultimate function of art in the first place?

Other recent recommendations on the subtle side of the coin:

Jason Lescalleet "mattresslessness" (Cut, 2002): As a newcomer to Lescalleet's body of work, I developed the attraction of a honeymooning couple or someone who went on his first hard drug binge. I want to hear everything the dude composed and know everything about his musical career but I understand it takes time. I've been listening to this CD a few times a day for about a week now and each time I listen to it at a different volume. So far, I find a medium volume accentuates Lescalleet's compositions, giving it a level wherein it still blends in with normal home sounds for an all around creepy experience. With each tune dedicated to a different composer, mattresslessness showcases a range of emotions and Lescalleet's wide sonic palate. "Ambideztrous" begins the disc with high-pitched oscillating tones similar to those found on rjoki ikeda's +/- , exploring the vacuous nature of silence and its role in intensifying dissonance. The music straddles the line between ambient techno and plain ambient compositions. Cackling static ebbs and flows on "Underscore," accented by roving low-end psych snippets. Soft introverted bass commences "Straight no Chaser" before jackhammering static rips through the serenity. On "ineinandergrefen," Lescalleet captures the corroded soundtrack behind a '70s exploitation film with a warbled synth line and a surreal undercurrent. Soft and weary, the tune journeys on, its notes fringed at the end of their elongation. The song rages with the same quiet intensity that characterizes and carries the album, ending as a refrigerator's glare swallows the last few tattered rumbles.

Asmus Tietchens "Ptomaine" 3xLP (RRRecords): I know very little about this prolific composer but, when homeboy creates something worth hearing, it's usually a transcendent experience. The LP features a locked-groove at the end of each track. None of the tracks have titles but each one conjures a different galaxy of sound. Some feature snippets of jarring sound while other feature elongated dark tones converging to create a portal into your consciousness. While I admit I fell short of listening all six sides of this LP as of press time, what I heard (5 sides) is primal Tietchens- schizophrenic tape loops providing sounds never before fathomed, drones using unique psychedelic sound, singular notes and negative space and locked grooves that capture perfect moments in the composition. At times a track becomes so repetitious, one cannot discern the locked groove from the rest of the composition.

KÜNSTLER TREU "Treutronics 81" 7" (Kernkrach, 2005): Each week Scott Soriano shoots a hole in my wallet, as his record label and distribution selects records from around the world. His minimal synth kick as-of-late elevated interesting European cyborgs into the underground limelight. I'm not sure where this band came from or what became of them. Packed with an empty reel-to-reel spindle, this single proves worth its $9 price tag. The a-side of the single boogies with dark minimal synth splinters, delving into almost psychedelic territory. "Maalox" presents relavatory synth smears as it lingers to a droning conclusion. "Fisch unter deinem socken" sprinkles Gary Neuman vocals over a pounding garage rhythm with sputtering computerized rat imitations for an all-out blast of electronic fire. The second side spins out a massive synth composition sounding like late '70s Tangerine Dream. The band lays out wondrous cadences with exciting twists and turns. At times it sounds like psychedelic cocktail music but the band throws in ratchets like xylophone strikes and spooky dub breakdowns.

Hero Wouters Muziek "voor Leven en Dood" LP (Enfant Terrible): Beginning with fluctuating robot dialog and large waves of synth sounds, the album owns the listener. As the synth drone continues to foreshadow death, a drum machine sends it into overdrive. Hero Wouters holds the listener at bay during every second of computerized darkness he constructs. Black fogs float through his low-end drones, as bleak atmospherics clout the mind with negative thoughts. The band underpins heavenly notes with a lingering danger, as anything may emerge from the haze. Nature makes a few appearances in the form of animal chatter and distressed children's yells. Even tracks featuring spoken word, which I assumed would be corny, transport the listener into incredible universes with jazz fusion fade-ins and smudges of roving low-end rumbles. "A Beginner's Guide" swallows the soul with moaning monks, teetering horns, a steady drum machine, blinking synths and a British female voice narrating the squall. Mayhem dissolves the tune as high-pitched modulations and harsh noise checkerboards emerge from the background. "Hotel" leads off with a killer acid techno drum beat and a triumphant synth soundtrack and increases in beauty, as the band open the synth's notes and bleed over the rhythm. Another Scott Soriano pick you should RUSH out and buy, if you're going to buy one album this month.

BRRR "You, Too, Can Be an Aesthete & World Citizen" CDr (self-released): Better known as the dude who pissed off a bunch of Christians than an artist, Timothy Shortell quietly created though provoking philosophical discourses, films and music. The two albums I heard from his BRRR project rank among heavy hitters like Scott Foust, Graham Lambkin, Tangerine Dream and Walter Marchetti in terms of the sheer volume of ideas and listenability. This disc, in particular, delineates hypnotic sound sculptures, each glistening and repeating for a short period of time before Shortell pulls the plug. The short, sharp compositions capture moments in time like impressionist paintings, blurring the natural into the surreal and the surreal into the tangible. Slowly bowing woodwind instruments converge with industrial footprints to birth corrosive natural worlds. A winding buzz frames a few decrepit low notes on an exotic jazz horn. A misty bay punctuated by a bluesy fog horn and shadowy ship bells receives homage from the amplification of a vacuous magnetic field. The disc spins into entropic territory with "For the Discriminating Bachelor," an airy, fuzzed out mantra with volcanic pulsation under the surface, leaving the listener with a myriad of introspective thoughts.

Not so subtle Picks:

Stone Baby "Black Blossom Blues" (House of Alchemy, 2007): House of Alchemy released a handful of decent CDRs that just failed to earn a spot on this blog. I admit I still have not listened to all of the CDRs in the massive pile the label graced me with. While the ones I listened to remain worthwhile and packaged with care in stylish cardboard cases, many presented avid sound woulds that never quite reached the peak sound promised throughout. Stone Baby excels beyond well beyond my expectations. A mysterious group from Rochester, the band develops beautifully disturbed ambient pictures. Without delving too far into a riff, the band never spoils ideas. The album begins with subdued twiddling, as a plucked guitar, a weeping woodwind instrument and some industrial crackles try to find common ground in a blackened field of misery. "Sometimes I'd Rather be in the Kitchen" drifts through wavering keyboard lines and short dissonant shocks, constructing a serene wonderland with an apocalyptic future undercurrent. The song, like most of the tunes on the album, progresses naturally and ends by fading into a black mist with a wind gust shooting it to oblivion.

Next entry: Ju Suk Reate Meate's fantastic reissue on DeStijl and more. If you would like your albums reviewed on this site, e-mail kobak77[at]yahoo[dot]com. Thanks for your support, as it keeps this hunk of junk alive.

Commodity and art are inseparable. Most artists cannot live without earning money from their ventures and they price their output so as many ears as possible hear the music and they recoup funds. Artists who give away their music are wealthy already like Radiohead, trying to prove an ideological point or people who create music as a hobby. These artists want their music to be heard by as many people as possible and they lack care for material returns. In contrast, spike the price of their music and allow only the bourgeois to hear it.

I enjoy purchasing albums and owning a hard copy of the record. I like holding the art object in my hands and looking through the artwork. Filing the records provides another pleasure, as I derive pleasure from referencing an album like a book.

I never felt downloading was a crime. I use the practice to gain access to hard-to-find and long out-of-print albums or to discover artists. I’m on a fixed income and cannot afford the eBay prices of some albums on my wish list. If I generate the money for one of the high-priced albums, I enjoy listening to mp3s before making a big purchase. I also reserve extreme distrust for major labels and large music media outlets but I feel, as a music journalist, I need exposure to all hyped albums. I routinely download albums praised by Rolling Stone and Pitchfork to see how low their standards sunk.

Certain albums contain such exciting, innovative, engrossing music and I hunt for the record, willing to shell out top dollar for a copy. I count anything by Henning Christiansen or Walter Marchetti in this category. Both artists construct music that transcends simple genre labels and wraps itself around the psyche. Christensen orchestrates wild attacks on the senses with tape loop orchestras and field recording samples. Marchetti flows through schizophrenic piano melodies and emits cold, stern drones that creep into the veins, adding a hallucinatory chill to the listening experience.

If a label reprints an album by either artist, I feel the price of the reissued album should reflect prices of new albums in the current market. Last week, I stumbled upon two fantastic reissue labels: Slowscan and Alga Marghen. Both labels put albums by the likes of Philip Corner, Charlemagne Palestine, Jac Berrocal, early Robert Ashley and various Fluxus artists back into print. This adds valuable historical context to the current out music craze. Not only is the music included better planned and executed than the current wave of noise, it also proves far more invigorating and futuristic than most modern music. I would much rather purchase these albums than current ones.

Aside from the historical context, these labels charge massive amounts for simple products. A modest fanfare surrounds the albums but the label presses them in editions of 300 with some well-know artists like Joe Jones receiving 150-count pressings. Ranging from $40-50 for a single LP, Slowscan records do not feature anything special setting them apart from normal pressings. The albums feature transcendent music that rises above the current heap of releases but their price tag proves too high for most music lovers outside of the collector sphere. With the price of mailing records skyrocketing, I could understand if this European label charged $20 for one of these albums but $40-50 price tags should be reserved for double albums.

With even higher prices than Slowscan, Alga Marghen grubs money like a crooked accountant. Some of their vinyl costs less than Slowscan Editions, with Phil Corner and Brion Gysin albums selling for around $25. Many of their albums, however, exist in the $45-65 range. While many of their compact discs carry a modest $17 price tag, some cost $40 for a single disc. Their three-volume “Avant Marghen” series features unreleased music from the likes of Henri Chopin and Ben Patterson packed into 7 LP box sets and priced around $175. A 20-disc box set from Hermann Nitsch costs $1,500. Though the label reissues stellar albums from John Cage, Walter Behrman and various sound poets, the Italian imprint ensures its music will not brace many ears.

Even file sharing services lack Alga Marghen and Slowscan titles. Most persons who count Philip Corner and David Behrman releases among their files do not carry either Piano Works or Wave Train. It took a five day search to find Piano Works by Philip Corner. That search failed to yield any other Alga Marghen or Slowscan titles, save those by Walter Marchetti.

While Fluxus musicians and avant-garde composers generally attract austere audiences in the art world, the records could attract many of today’s experimental music fans if labels marketed it correctly. Affordability would provide a history lesson to persons who think so-called “noise music” began with the New Blockaders or Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music. Early excursions from David Behrman, Robert Ashley and John Cage would blast through speakers and navigate through synapses. Instead, the music remains unheard, as labels pander to the upper class and the record collector with high prices.

Marketing something tricky like avant-garde music takes great care. One must turn a little profit or at least make enough money to stay afloat by gauging the public’s tastes. These labels should retain a goal of having their music heard by as big an audience as possible. High prices and impossibly low pressings prevent a label from achieving this goal.

Without Further Ado, this week’s picks:

Ajilvsga “Earth Lodge” 2xCS (Not Not Fun, 2007): Decaying guitar lines, dark low-end electronic drones, black metal and field recordings converge for another trip down gloomy psychotropic paths. In lesser hands, this would conjure familiar results but Ajilvsga, the duo of Brad Rose and Nathan Young, combine rugged whirlwind electronics with a thrilling sense of drama and timing. Over the course of four sides, the band continually builds slow-moving horror scenes, changing methods and moods logically during the course of a tune. Each tune presents a desolate world filled with layered sound demons. Some slog with the satanic sludge riffs of modern metal mavericks. “Retribution” turns into a gloriously eerie steamroller of sound with an underpinning of bright synth music beneath its sinister surface. “Wolves Milk/Black Clouds Temple” brings to mind the best fourth-generation lo-fi black metal tapes, as the corrosive dubbing adds a decrepit layer of sound to the showcased metal riff. The cover art sums up the band’s style with its surreal collage of natural elements. Each picture on the cover—from goats to a little girl to an outstretched hand—smoothly transitions to the next, creating something wholly believable for the synapses. Conversely, the band throws multiple black psychedelic elements into their sonic casserole. Instead of sound chaotic, the band’s sound coherently evolves, growing on the listener as it grows.

Blank Realm “Blight Monument” Cass (Barnacle Rodeo, 2007): This Australian sensation creates monstrous tornadoes of sound that begin with subtle electronic gusts but soon uproot cities with dissonance. The family band uses creepy soft guitar picks and psychedelic sweeps to accentuate his crushing wall of noise. The psychedelic storm transforms to vocal lament with a sparse, introspective Sabbath-like guitar line and frightening ethereal moans. Guitar proves Blank Realm's best weapon, as it rips through the one downer on the album- a lame hippie drum and electronics jam- by ranging from pure psych to ear bleeding no-wave. The remainder of the cassette plots a fluid path between spacey instrumental passages and vocal-laden head trips, leading the listener on a brown acid journey through the spooky parts of town.

David Behrman “Wave Train (music from 1959 to 1968)” 2xLP (Alga Marghen, 2002): I just spent a thousand words using this label as an example of the commodification of art but I also mentioned they produce fantastic records. If they priced Yanni records that high, I wouldn’t be complaining. Similar to Robert Ashley’s Wolfman, Behrman’s Wave Train collects early excursions from the electronic mastermind. Sides one and two feature anarchistic piano adventures similar to Philip Corner’s piano work but with more structure. The title track hints at the electronic splendor to come, as feedback underscores piano resonance, birthing round, and creepy oscillations. The real meat of the collection comes on the third and fourth sides. “Sounds for a film by Robert Watts” showcases a walk on the shoreline, as see-saw electronics accentuate dog barks, rain and assorted animal noises. The 20-minute composition uses silence to heighten the feeling of normalcy, as footsteps and wave crackles routinely interrupt. “Players with Circuits” and “Runthrough” end the fantastic collection by foreshadowing today’s noise musicians. “Players with Circuits” rumbles with rainbows of screeching guitar feedback and processed piano, conjuring a similar effect as today’s laptop noise composers. “Runthrough” phases in a vibrating sci-fi drone with screeching oscillations sounding like dialogue between female dogs and extraterrestrials. As with the other Alga Marghen releases, well worth seeking out but a bit pricey.

Little Claw Spit and Squalor Swallow the Snow LP (Ecstatic Peace, 2007): Little Claw always interested me with their saw-toothed punk rock but somehow never reached the level of flattery until the release of this album. The bassless trio sounds urgent and immediate, accessible yet inventive. Guitarist and lead singer Klynn surrounds herself with fire, pairing with auxiliary guitarist Heath to turn simple riffs into dissonant flames. Hendrik seems ready for every contour the band accelerates around, as he piss-pounds his drums skinless. “Movies for You” rocks with a space-age Eno-warped guitar line while Klynn howls meta-garage rock shanties. “Shoplifting Cart Pt. II” takes Pussy Galore trash can percussion and robotic junkie riffage and adds angry Chrissie Hynde relationship poetics. It ends with a thick feedback breakdown that mixes the band’s melodic sensibilities with their knack for utilizing feedback to fill in sound holes, as an organ rave-up duels with crackling feedback to rival Magik Markers “Straight As in Love.” Album highlight “Domestication of Mandchila” thrashes out a light-speed riff and breaks down into a sloshed stomp-a-long for the chorus, all along touting a wall of rumbling feedback for its base. Klynn’s vocals waver with deep, twenty-something drink-and-smoke poetics of early Patti Smith, drenched in reverb for a strychnine effect. I wish the Magik Markers’ Boss sounded like this, both dangerous and easily digestible at the same time.