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Infamous Bathrooms

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Listening After Months in Lockdown → In The Quietus, Daniel Dylan Wray (who claims to listen to five new albums a day) feels that 2020 deadened music’s healing power for him. As the months (and pandemic) dragged on, music only added to the deluge of information (“Pressing play sometimes felt like opening up Twitter …”), and silence was often preferable. Though Daniel still experienced euphoric music moments, a lot of music (or the act of listening to it) felt “draped in sadness.”

Daniel has a theory. His 2020 listening experiences are happening in a singular space — the same place where he’s locked down, living monotonous days, working from home, endlessly worrying. He’s not bonding with music in grungy nightclubs or record shops, or discovering new tunes with friends, or equating albums to time spent on road trips or in unfamiliar cities. Daniel explains:

The process of discovering and experiencing music is intrinsically linked to a sense of place. We all have indelible memories – from the profound to the prosaic – attached to where we were during a musical epiphany or awakening. This year that process has been hacked down to nothing more than sitting in front of a computer screen at home. … Music is a multi-sensory experience, from the sweat and pulse of a club to the stench of stagnant gig venue carpets, and from rifling through fusty charity shop records to perfectly programmed light shows that dazzle the eye as music tickles the ear and chugging smoke machines engulf you. 2020 has robbed music of these other senses.

He has a point. I do equate many of my favorite songs and albums with events, people, or places. And I don’t go out as much as I used to (even before COVID-times), which might be why I don’t have too many current songs with strong memetic connective tissue. 

Music critic Ann Powers writes about similar feelings in her moving new essay Diary of a Fugue Year. Like Daniel, she refers to music as another layer of information to digest. But she also finds that her mindset toward music has transformed after months of lockdown, flavoring the act of listening with a strange intimacy: 

Music makes me yearn for what feels lost: a whisper pushing breath onto my neck, a voice singing loud into a crowd yelling back at it. In my solitude, though, recordings become a lifeline. Spending time with music has never felt more private, a way of both sheltering from and mediating the noise from outside. At the same time, the sound always takes me somewhere; it’s often the only way I hear a stranger’s voice on any given day. See what I’m getting at? Nothing’s got just one meaning. In a year crowded with contradictions, music’s way of enhancing emotion can feel clarifying, or it can overwhelm. Like every other form of information, music is reaching people through static-filled channels, distorted, muffled, feeding back.

We know many new practices will linger after the pandemic: working from home, live-streamed concerts, and telemedicine, to name a few. We might also listen differently, our ears heightened to receive the emotion of the moment. At home, songs will continue to sound much more personal than before COVID-times. And in the wild, music discovery becomes a visceral experience like few others. 

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CBGB Virtual Tour → Experience the grime, grit, and magnificence of CBGB & OMFUG just before shutting its doors in 2006. I was lucky to visit the club in 1991 (Monster Magnet were playing — this was during CMJ Music Marathon), but I could only handle about five minutes as the place was so hot, tiny, and packed. I had a better time next door at the Gallery, where I watched Jad Fair stomp his feet and sing songs a cappella.1He mic’ed the floor so his foot stomps would be amplified. The bemused sound guy spent 10 minutes moving microphones around until Jad was satisfied with the sound of his stomps. This virtual tour is a trip, though. Don’t miss out on the infamous bathrooms. And Unsane were quite strategic with their band stickers, weren’t they? (h/t Joe Livingston)

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Matthew Cardinal – Asterisms → If calming those pandemic nerves is the aim, then Asterisms is the game. Matthew Cardinal, a member of the Edmonton band nêhiyawak (described in the press release as ‘moccasingaze’), pleasingly layers tones and washes of sound throughout his solo debut’s enchanting 43 minutes. There are some things to decipher here — the song titles are dates without years, and it’s not clear if “Dec 31st” and “Jan 8th” are yet to happen or already passed. Maybe these are the days the tracks were recorded, or when best to listen. And the album’s title either references typography or astronomy, both realms where the term “asterism” exists. This fuzziness reflects the music, lost somewhere between past and future, between rigid text-space and intangible star fields. There are hints of melodies that fade in and out of each other, and occasionally a Schulze-esque synth sound will bubble up from the haze. And with nearly half the tracks clocking in at under three minutes, these aren’t elongated, drifty drones, but the shorties also don’t come off as unfinished snapshots. There’s enough variety here to imbue a thoughtful motion to the album, as recalling past days in our lives reveals different colors and fading experiences. Most importantly, Asterisms is a comforting listen, and I happily give in to its spell. Matthew Cardinal has confidently earned his gold star among the busy field of 2020’s ambient exporters. (P.S. Here’s a kaleidoscopic video for “Dec 4th.”)

First Exposure

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Sandinista! at 40 → The Clash’s ambitious triple album Sandinista! was released 40 years ago this month. It was the first vinyl record I ever bought. I remember wandering into the mall record store thinking, “I should get something by this band The Clash I’m hearing about.” Looking through the bins, I see that Sandinista! packages three records filled with music for the price of one.1The Clash reportedly agreed to a cut in royalties to keep the price low on this album. So, that’s the one I picked over London Calling or the two others. 

As I told Lawrence Peryer at the end of my interview on the Spot Lyte On podcast, Sandinista! probably wasn’t the best first exposure to The Clash. The album was difficult to latch on to — there was so much music, and the styles varied wildly from track-to-track. I remember liking “Magnificent Seven” and “Police On My Back,” but I didn’t get it overall. Maybe I chose the wrong intro album, making The Clash a band I’d merely appreciate through the years. 

Simon Reynolds recently wrote about Sandinista! on his Blissblog, calling it a “fan-perplexing triple – which must be their least-listened record (well, apart from Cut the Crap) but which makes for a surprisingly listenable listen for streaming-era ears.” A vintage album best suited for streaming, then? Simon explains, “It’s not a record that can be listened to in a single sitting, especially in those days of vinyl — all that getting up and removing another disc from the sleeve, or flipping over the platter.”

When we first dip into a catalog, I wonder about the effect of that first record we listen to from a band. It can make the difference between becoming a fan or “meh.” Catalog dipping is a lot surer with streaming. You’re not really taking a chance anymore. And it’s easy to know which albums are the favorites, the most listened to, or the critically lauded ones. Before digital music, we were often guiding our chance-taking by album price. Three albums for the price of one was tempting. Also, there was the cut-out bin. Those $3-and-under records were often our intro albums, but, usually, only a band’s least popular records ended up as cut-outs.2Though I did discover Eno via the cut-out bin. It was Before And After Science, I believe.

Of course, I now enjoy Sandinista! quite a bit. And I see “Magnificent Seven” (and much of the album) as an ’80s milestone, ahead of its time. Here’s a fascinating oral history of that song from Consequence of Sound. And there’s a new music video for “Magnificent Seven.” The legendary Don Letts edited it from footage from The Clash’s time in NYC and their 1981 Bond’s residency. So good, so nostalgic. 

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Library Music → I’m intrigued by Tracks Music Library, a streaming platform set up by the Chapel Hill Public Library. Tracks is an online music site solely focused on artists from the ‘The Triangle’ (Chapel Hill, Raleigh, and Durham). Via Indyweek:

[Local artists] are compensated for their submissions and given full ownership of their tracks. Upon visiting the website, you can search curated music from more than 70 musicians and bands; if you have a Chapel Hill library card, you can also download music.

It turns out Tracks uses a streaming engine called MUSICat, allowing libraries to create an “affordably priced” platform for “music streams and optional downloads to library users.” Libraries across the country are implementing this (here’s a list), with most focusing on local music. I assume payments for streams and downloads are paid to the artists through the grant pools and public funding given to libraries. 

I love the idea of streaming platforms based on local music and regional scenes. It’s a welcome antithesis to the temptation to always think globally on the internet. The rights are easy to secure as the platforms are dealing directly with the artists, most unsigned. And I see that Tracks is working with Durham’s Merge Records, so prominent local labels can also get involved. This is how you foster a community, which is an essential exercise in fractured times. 

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Monta At Odds – A Great Conjunction → Kansas City’s Monta At Odds are a spacey band, both in sound and obsessions. Science fiction literature had a heavy influence on their Argentum Dreams album (released in 2018 on my 8D Industries label). And the band’s recent single “When Stars Grow Old” is inspired by a vision of a future culture remembering its past on a distant world. So it’s no surprise that December 21st’s ‘great conjunction’ of Saturn and Jupiter would inspire the band to summon a new set of cosmic tunes. These five songs are Monta At Odds at their Oddsiest — a crafty mix of soaring space-rock, frantic jazz drumming, fluttering sine waves, and post-rock echoes. “The Gods Are Conspiring” is the highlight, a rousing instrumental sound-piece that imagines an agitated Popol Vuh blissfully rocking out. Along with the other tunes on this EP, it’s a fitting soundtrack for watching heavenly bodies appear to collide in space.

An Accommodating Tinge of Distortion

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An Update on Bandcamp Fridays → You can’t have too much of a good thing. Since the very beginning of COVID-times, Bandcamp has waived their revenue share on the first Friday of every month. That means after payment processor fees, artists (or their labels, if managing the account) got an average of 93% of the total.

Bandcamp Fridays were a rousing success for everyone involved, not the least Bandcamp itself. Though the company led us to believe these first Fridays ended with 2020, I suspected these events would continue. And here’s Bandcamp with breaking news: 

Although vaccines are starting to roll out, it will likely be several months before live performance revenue starts to return. So we’re going to continue doing Bandcamp Fridays in 2021, on February 5th, March 5th, April 2nd, and May 7th. As always, isitbandcampfriday.com has the details.

Also, in the announcement, Bandcamp rightly points out that fans shouldn’t think these are the only days to buy music and support artists. Normally, “an average of 82% reaches the artist/label” through Bandcamp on a day that’s not the first Friday of the month. That’s still pretty good and remarkably better than those other guys. 

So why have these special Fridays, then? Well, they’re a lot of fun. Bandcamp Fridays remind me of Tuesdays at the record store — new releases came out every Tuesday in the olden times — and fans would line up at the door before we opened in anticipation of their favorite artists’ fresh music. Nowadays, Bandcamp Friday’s excitement carries over to social media. The social platforms come alive on Bandcamp Fridays with recommendations, exclusives from the artists, and praise from fans. It’s a nudge to the broader public that there’s something more than Spotify, that an inclusive music community bubbling with intention and enthusiasm exists in 2020. And because of that, I expect Bandcamp Fridays — or some version of it — to continue well beyond next May.

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In 2021, support people. Screw the brands. → The argument over streaming royalties and how the services don’t adequately pay artists often loses sight of an important factor. If a recording artist releases through a label, that label might take as much as 90% of the streaming royalty pie.190% would be a really bad — but not unheard of — major label deal. Then, there’s the issue of labels that don’t pay at all — whether that’s intentional or due to a combination of laziness and bad accounting. 

In 5 Magazine, Terry Matthew calls out labels that infamously don’t pay artists. Terry mentions classic Chicago house music labels like Trax, defrauding pioneering Black artists like Larry Heard and Robert Owens. But Terry notes a more significant problem: as fans, we sometimes mythologize the labels at the expense of the artists behind the music. We continue to support labels while (often unknowingly) hurting the artists. Here’s Terry:

Too often as an industry, we elevate packaging over product, memorabilia over music, brand over artist. All might be forgivable except the last, because there are real people involved in this, many of them are still alive and still active artists.

Terry’s prescription: Stop fetishizing labels at the expense of artist fandom. Buy releases directly from the artists when you can (via Bandcamp or artist sites). And be aware that the classic record you’re buying might be a dodgy label’s make-a-fast-buck repress.

There’s also a reminder not to get caught up in our beloved artists’ catalogs of classics, ignoring their current output. Many pioneering producers are still making vital music. A lot of it is self-released. The best thing we can do as fans is to follow our heroes as they continue their musical lives, supporting them when we can. 

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Shea Betts – Sea / Sky → This album is the first release from NYC-via-Canada librarian and music-maker Shea Betts. As evidenced by the title Sea / Sky, the album is an ode to both, with the first half inspired by the ocean’s movement while the second reflects the windiness of the atmosphere. Shea tells me that he had “a desire to make a more ‘abrasive’ ambient sound – something more distorted and overdriven than the subdued ambient that I often listen to.” That abrasiveness is anything but, closer to an accommodating tinge of distortion on keyboards that sustains like church organs. This organ-like quality gives Sea / Sky a religious air, an almost worshipful respect for the natural world inhabited by the album’s two subjects. With measured difference, the ‘Sea’ half conveys roughness while the ‘Sky’ portion is lighter and flowing. And the songs in the middle are a combination. “Where the ocean meets the sky,” says Shea. Despite its simplicity, Sea / Sky is expressive and visual — listening in full, with the concept in mind, is movie-like. I imagine a vertical slow-motion camera pan from the water to the clouds. Probably in black and white and dramatically contrasted. Is Béla Tarr available?

A Boy Can Dream

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Will 2021’s New Music Hold Out For Tours? → One positive thing we can say about 2020, it didn’t lack for great music. Here’s MusicREDEF’s compilation of various 2020′ best of’ lists as proof. For the most part, it didn’t particularly seem like anyone deprived us of their new music this year. In the superstar category, where the absence of touring is a significant detriment on release strategy, artists embracing lockdown life — like Taylor Swift and Charli XCX — prospered. On the other hand, business-as-usual releases from the likes of Lady Gaga and Childish Gambino seemed here and forgotten. 

I think, at first, the uncertainty of the times actually ended up pushing artists to keep the releases flowing. If you remember, there was a time when acts figured they’d be on tour by the summer, and everything would be hunky-dory. There was a feeling that if bands all held their albums for a few months, then there’d be a glut of releases when the time came to tour. So, bombs away. And credit to Dua Lipa for being one of the first to jump in the water, with an end-of-March high-profile album release during the early throes of pandemic panic. Future Nostalgia ended doing quite well for her, giving other acts the nudge they needed. But, most still believed they’d tour in the summer or fall.

2020’s uncertainty is giving way to 2021’s certainty. That certainty is that there likely won’t be any major tours for another year, at the earliest. For that reason, we might see fewer big releases next year or a planned glut of releases (preceding an excess of tours) in early 2022. Here’s Larry Fitzmaurice in the Last Donut of the Night newsletter:

Let’s put visibility aside for a moment (especially when, in the age of social media, it takes a lot to translate that into something you can make a living off of) and talk about the big problem with releasing new music and not touring behind it: No touring means no income, since an increasingly scarce number of musicians can afford to make and release music without touring to recoup the cost of, well, making and releasing music.

Smaller and mid-sized bands are more nimble and can do things that big acts can’t, like book short-notice regional tours and vary the types of venues they play. But there’s also the audience problem — will people be ready to attend concerts before the end of next year? Right now, I’m doubtful. I don’t know if I’ll be comfortable going out until I’m absolutely sure I’m not putting myself and my loved ones in danger. With all the vaccine good news, I hope we can all safely put aside these reservations before we ring in another year. If not, we’ll need all the great new music we can get.

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Apple TV Was Making a Show About Gawker. Then Tim Cook Found Out → I have mixed feelings on this story: 

Mr. Cook, according to two people briefed on the email, was surprised to learn that his company was making a show about Gawker, which had humiliated the company at various times and famously outed him, back in 2008, as gay. He expressed a distinctly negative view toward Gawker, the people said. Apple proceeded to kill the project. 

Several episodes were already in the can, so this wasn’t a small decision. And reportedly, there are other things that Cook (and Apple) object to in Apple TV+’s programming. Unsurprisingly, too much violence and nudity (the reason Cook killed a Dr. Dre biopic despite Dre’s involvement with Apple) or religious controversies (crucifixes were removed from Servant) are on the list. But then, supposedly, a scene was excised from a show because the script called for damaging an iPhone. Oh, and no one in a program can disparage China.

That all sounds dicey. But, in a way, I don’t mind the leader of a content platform setting guidelines based on personal convictions that influence the company’s vision. Most platforms are solely profit-driven and have no content guidelines at all (besides the legally enforced ones). Society’s present mess is partly because platforms try to please everyone, even if everyone includes those spreading dangerous misinformation, bullying, and filth. I’m not saying Cook’s personal views and convictions inspire all his policies (unless he really does love China), but I’d like to see more CEOs express convictions that act as constraints on their companies. I think, in this case, saying ‘no’ to Gawker applies.

Of course, there’s the chilling effect. Will studios take chances when having to navigate a CEO’s personality? On the other hand, could this become the differentiation that we miss in platforms? Like radio stations programming by loose definitions of genre, video streamers become separated by content that follows corporate vision. There will always be platforms that take more risks (that’s a corporate vision in itself), complimenting those that want to remain ‘family-friendly.’ Why not?

I admit what I’m proposing is naïve. Reed Hastings pulling an episode of Patriot Act off Netflix because it criticizes Saudi Arabia is not what we want more of. But if Twitter and Facebook suddenly decided that misinformation, hate-speech, and harassment weren’t allowed because it was against what Zuckerberg and Dorsey believed in — I’d enthusiastically welcome that. They are private companies, after all, and can do what they want if they wanted to. 

I know, I know. Just let me enjoy my fantasy for at least a few minutes.

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Elijah Knutsen – Music For Vending Machines 1 → Elijah Knutsen, who gave us the exquisite Blue Sun Daydream album a couple of months ago, is back with Music For Vending Machines 1. Elijah refers to this first-in-a-series as “a miniaturized listening experience … much like something purchased from a vending machine.” The three songs, each clocking in at an average length of nine-and-a-half minutes, note a particular noise in their titles: “Air Conditioner Sound,” “Vending Machine Sound,” and “Purple Wisteria Tree Sound.” Those titles are red herrings as these ‘sounds’ are spacious, melodic, and far from mechanical or ordinary. “Vending Machine Sound” in particular gives our ears a visceral variety — layers of mesmerizing, shimmering tones fade into a chorus of voices and footsteps. And then those noises succumb to warm bendy chords alternating in the stereo field, like an interim track on that lost mid-90s My Bloody Valentine album. As with his previous Blue Sun Daydream, Elijah Knutsen’s self-described “micro-release”1It’s still longer than most early Van Halen albums btw. is a gorgeous-sounding diversion, transporting and soothing the listener within its sonic world.

Enthusiastic About the Fringe

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Liz Pelly’s Podcast Overlords → Pelly delivers another scathing, must-read broadside for The Baffler, this time focusing on the potential fall-out of Spotify’s love affair with the podcasting world. She sees musicians as the “canaries in the coalmine,” foretelling that only the biggest podcasting names will find success on the platform. The others will face diminished identities and fanbases in favor of Spotify’s platform branding and emphasis on ‘star’ playlists. And, unlike the music content, most exclusive podcast IP becomes the property of Spotify. 

Many Spotify-focused musicians tailor their music to accommodate the platform, and Pelly sees podcasts similarly affected. She believes we already see shortened podcasts, such as Parcast’s three-minute Daily Quote, intended to fit automated personalized playlists like The Daily Drive and Daily Wellness. There’s also a real danger of producers optimizing their podcasts — a positive reframing of appeasing algorithms that encourage milquetoast and unchallenging content. 

Writes Pelly:

… as much as Daniel Ek wants to continue doing interviews pushing the same talking points about the democratizing force that streaming has been, it ultimately just reproduces and exacerbates the exploitative status quo, where those without the numbers are treated as disposable. The fact that podcasting staff are unionizing is of particular importance in this regard. Solidarity amongst podcasters and musicians could be useful in imagining new systems and practices that work for everyone. 

As I’ve said re: music on Spotify, it’s not a game anyone has to play. Think of this as an opportunity to create (and strengthen) communities for podcasts existing outside of Spotify’s ecosystem. My often repeated analogy of ’80s commercial radio vs. college radio applies — there were many listeners satisfied with hearing the top 40. But there were also plenty of people enthusiastic about the fringe offered on college stations. What’s important is to embrace your lane. Let Spotify be Spotify (i.e., commercial radio) and instead reach out to the communities of listeners that reject ‘optimized’ content. [LINK]

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A Documentary Called Eno → What’s this? It’s Brian Eno in 1973’s flamboyant “I wear make-up because I look better” glory. A 24-minute documentary called Eno popped up online this week, filmed during the recording of Here Come The Warm Jets. The opening scene sums up Brian’s modus operandi — he’s playing the piano well enough that for a second, you think, “he can actually play the piano.” But then you realize he’s not that good at all. It’s his enthusiasm and concentration that’s making it work. And, unless it’s buried in the mix, that piano part never makes it into “The Paw-Paw Negro Blowtorch” anyway (kind of like the sitar solo we hear seconds later — huh, what?). Says Eno, “I have attempted to replace the element of skill considered necessary in music with the element of judgment.” What a find, what a gem. Hat tip to Jon Curtis at Poke In The Ear. [LINK]

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Chicha Libre & La Sonora Mazurén – “Caminito de mi Pueblo” → I’m in love with this song, a collaboration between NYC’s Chicha Libre and Colombia’s La Sonora Mazurén. Translated as “Little Paths of My Town,” it’s a cover of a tune originally recorded in 1976 by Ecuadorian accordionist, poet, and Moog pioneer Polibio Mayorga. This rousing single is a tribute to indigenous leader Cristina Bautista, heard speaking on the track, and was released on October 29, 2020, the first anniversary of her assassination. “Caminito de mi Pueblo” has an uplifting, rebellious feel that we can all appreciate — proof that resistance doesn’t have to feel angry. It also features some cool synth riffs amidst the layers of traditional instrumentation and bouncing percussion. Read more about this single here. [LINK]

Any Relief is Sweet Relief

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One More Post About Stress and Creativity → I’ve alluded to the challenges and difficulties of putting together a weekly email newsletter, which are the obstructions of creative work, really. Whether writing, music-making, brainstorming, anything requiring the mythical ‘creative juice’ — the stars should be aligned, right? If something’s out of whack, then perhaps it’s not happening. The mood escapes us, and, creatively, we feel like fish flapping on the edge of the dock. 

I could probably say it’s felt like this for four years, but COVID-times — coinciding with the launch of my newsletter somehow — exaggerates the mental forecast for dark clouds. A few of you have picked up on these feelings, responding to confirm the matching weather in your heads. Our challenges aren’t equal, and I’m aware I’m better off in these circumstances than most. But the combination of daily chaos from the White House, a global pandemic, and the duly exacerbated struggles of self-employment weigh heavy. I admit: this stress-fog is the reason the newsletter slowed down its pace to fortnightly. No matter how much I try to keep my brain fresh — news-avoiding, stoic reminders, meditation — the dark clouds find a way to shoo off the ideas. And the motivation to go along with them. 

So how do I feel today? Probably, like you, a bit better. Damon Krukowski tweeted yesterday that Boston’s 4.2 earthquake was actually “everyone jumping out of bed with energy for the first time in 4 years.” I don’t know how long this lasts — the daily chaos is already starting to resume, battering us for at least a couple of months. The pandemic is scarier than it’s ever been. And I’m still a self-employed person balancing the financial precipice. But on at least one or two of those points, I see some hope, and I didn’t feel that way several days ago. Any relief is sweet relief, and my creative process is thankful. 

I decided to use this blog and my newsletter as a respite from all this turmoil. That’s why I haven’t spoken about it much and why it feels weird writing about it now. And I don’t want to make it all about me, either. But I feel like it’s a good possibility you’ve been going through the same challenges. You might also feel less ‘weighted’ today. Again, that doesn’t mean it’s easier from here out — creation is hard even in the best of times. But any ray of light helps shine through those clouds, doesn’t it? Onward.

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Speaking of my Email Newsletter → Will Sumsuch let loose a bunch of lovely words about Ringo Dreams of Lawn Care in the new issue of 5 Mag. He calls my newsletter “a neatly packaged antidote to our horrendously homogeneous musical landscape” and “like an artistic self-help guide.” Can you see me blushing through the email? I hope to live up to those accolades as rev back up to my weekly broadsides. Thanks, Will! The latest issue of 5 Mag is only available to subscribers right now, but you can download it for $2.99. You should! It’s rad, and, as usual for the publication, it features a lot of informative underground dance music content to grok. [LINK]

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Pylon – Box → The best band I ever saw live (and I didn’t even get to see them in their early ’80s prime) has a wonderful box set out. It’s Pylon, and it’s called Box. Sasha Frere-Jones wrote some great words about it on 4Columns, including this thinly disguised call-to-arms: “These recordings demonstrate how powerful the idea of punk was as liberation, not in the sense of political emancipation but as a license to start from scratch.” Anyway, you could do worse than put on Pylon today or any day. “These kids listen to dub for breakfast.” You can listen to (and buy) Box on Bandcamp or those streaming spots. [LINK]

Looney Machine of Outrage

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Negativity Will Not Do → I could probably write about every other post that appears on The Red Hand Files here. Nick Cave’s answers to his reader’s questions are delightful and insightful, and most deserve highlighting. The latest, Issue #122, is a response to Pat from Chicago asking how Nick deals with hate mail. Nick jokingly — I hope — claims to enjoy “a good death threat in the morning.” Then I’m fully on board once he dismisses social media as “that looney machine of outrage.” I’m sticking the phrase in my quiver for future deployment. 

But it’s Nick’s dose of resistant optimism and a rally to continue doing creative work in the face of uncertainty that stirs my soul. I needed to read this today:

Of course, there is much in our world that is in need of change, to be set to rights, and clearly humanity is complex, conflicted and full of faults, but at this moment in time, when our very existence hangs in the balance, we need to come together not just in good faith and consolation, but also in a spirit of creativity and invention. Our existence depends upon offering the best of ourselves. Negativity, cynicism and resentment will not do.

On the same day, James A. Reeves offered this complimentary observation (unintentional) on his Atlas Minor blog: 

It’s an awful feeling, being afraid to hope. But I’ve relied on pessimism as a protective measure for too long, only to discover it’s another warped mirror.

I literally exclaimed, “Oh, shit!” when I read that. It felt like I got burned. This week’s tough — the toughest in a while — and the stress is nearly unbearable. My own ‘protective’ pessimism and wallowing outside of my creative pursuits aren’t helping anyone. Quite the opposite, actually. Thanks for the wake-up call.

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Joe Muggs on “Starfish and Coffee” → Joe Muggs was given the task of writing in-depth about a Prince song in a lengthy Twitter thread. He chose “Starfish and Coffee.” Hey, that might be my favorite one, too. Joe’s thoughts and recollections on this classic are heartwarming, reminding me of all the things that make one love music (and Prince). He also touches on that DJ set sweet spot: playing a song that everyone knows and digs, but you never hear on the radio (or the 2020 equivalent). Anyway, this is a great thread. Hopefully, someday this screed will get transferred to a blog or personal site (you should do one, Joe) and away from the ephemeral clutches of Twitter. Passionate remembrances such as this deserve a more hallowed ground. 

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“I Don’t Want To Talk About It” Masks → Orlando art troubadour Patrick Greene ran for mayor of ‘the city beautiful’ in 2004. His campaign slogan was, “I don’t want to talk about it,” a sentiment that has haunted us (and him) ever since. As we barrel further into COVID-times, Pat has heeded the call to extend his slogan to us mask-wearing ‘over its’ as we do our sensible duty while discouraging senseless chat. Or at least that’s how I read it. 

The masks are $16.00 (including shipping within the US), and Pat will donate four of those dollars to Community Hope Center. That organization helps the homeless and those living destitute in the (now) ex-tourist motels along the theme park highways. You may recognize this existence from the film The Florida Project. What was a budding problem at the time of that movie has gotten much, much worse thanks to the economic effects of COVID on Central Florida’s service industries. Supporting Community Hope Center in this crisis is a worthy cause.

Send Pat $16.00 for one of these handy masks. Click here for his email address for more info, or PayPal him using that same email. Be sure to include your shipping address.

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Affect Display – Animal Drift Animal → Canadian producer Damien Smith is Affect Display, and he’s released a unique seven-track album titled Animal Drift Animal through the Pirates Blend label. The tracks recall Detroit techno’s early explorations, as releases became less about the dance-floor and more about the head-trip. Smith’s drum programming sets Animal Drift Animal into this heady mode, with frenetic rhythms that betray influences traveling across a landscape of genres. There are scenes of pastoral ambiance, but also indie-quoting guitar lines in “FlightorFury” and a couple of others, a mellow gothiness in “Transference,” and disorienting experimentalism leading to grandiose prog-ness in “Dauen.” And it works. Affect Display has delivered something unusual and grabbing. He’s shaking things up, and what more can one ask for in these lockdown days of endless sameness? Check out the video for “Until the Light Hits the Door” for an eerily nostalgic taste of Affect Display’s electronica:

Ralph Kinsella and the Poetics of Bedroom Listening

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Ralph Kinsella contacted me through this blog and emailed a link to his just-released Bandcamp-only Abstraction EP. The tunes blew me away — this was an ambient music I wanted to hear, melodic and optimistic, dynamic rather than constant, and featuring guitars, both processed and clear. I wrote about it in a previous #Worktones segment, giving the Abstraction EP high marks. But, behind the scenes, I emailed Ralph asking if he thought of following up with an album. And if he’d like my 8D Industries imprint to release it.

Ralph responded with the completed demo of his album Lessening. Though recorded at the same time as the Abstraction EP, Lessening felt like a step forward. Hearing Ralph’s music at a 50-minute stretch suited his sonic world-building. The music is glistening and evolving, taking on suggestive textures that convey movement from place-to-place. I’m loath to bring up ‘the lockdown,’ but these hopeful, outward-reaching tones are an antidote to seclusion.

Today Lessening is available on all the streaming platforms as well as Bandcamp. I can’t think of a better way for 8D Industries to close out this year of uncertainty — it’s an album of hesitant lightness and a resolve to keep going. 

I briefly spoke to Ralph Kinsella about this album, his music, and the beautiful part of Scotland where he resides. 

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I take it Abstraction is your debut under your own name. If so, what’s your background before that? I believe you were in a band or bands, correct? 

Ralph Kinsella: Abstraction and Lessening are the first records I recorded alone, and roughly at the same time, during the COVID-19 lockdown. They are siblings in that way, separated at birth. I wanted to do nothing more than capture something — a feeling, an emotion, maybe. Certainly, the unassailable need for extended and stretched forms of expression. Hopefully, listeners might relate to feelings of detachment and piercing melancholy, as I felt when making the records. 

I spent a long time improvising and experimenting with sounds in the lead-up to these releases. Before making these sounds, I was in various bands (mostly lo-fi bedroom rock). 

Tell me a little about your recording process. Anything surprising, either in technique, location, or even the gear you use? Do you approach the music with a ‘philosophy’? 

I record everything in a spare bedroom, and all the music starts with improvisation — usually on guitar (or synth) with a series of effects pedals. I try to use as little equipment as possible: a Stratocaster, harmonium, delay pedals, a cheapo synth, and a good synth. I use Logic Pro essentially as an eight-track. Limitations are the most important thing for me when working alone. So I avoid using any plugin instruments or too much DSP after recording. Like Keats, the philosophy is ‘truth’ – even though no such thing exists.

As a guitarist, how did you fall into this ambient style of music? Who are your inspirations/long-distance mentors for developing this sound?

The Swedish record label, Häpna, changed my life as a teenager. I’ve been obsessed with experimental music with post-rock leanings ever since. I’d go to Monorail Records in Glasgow and pick up anything new from the label (usually based on the cover art – the aesthetic curated by the label/artists was wonderful). I found the record labels and artists contributing to this creative ecosystem inspiring. It showed me a different model, one centered on creative expression.

At the moment, I enjoy listening to (and trying my best to understand) the music of Elaine Radigue, Francis Dhomont, Loren Conners, and, most recently, Cucina Povera. I think they’ve all been unknowingly collaborating with me for a while now.

When I reviewed the Abstraction EP, I pegged it as “bright, gentle, and optimistic.” Do you think that’s a fair assessment? If so, how do you arrive at that ‘vibe’ when a lot of ambient electronic music nowadays is dark and droney? And the world being dark and droney, too?

You’re right – I’m always looking for a way to make instrumental (and more left-field music) without the ‘higher access mode’ approach (by that I mean, the “my music is hard to listen to, therefore it must know more than you do” approach). I like to thread/tread fine ground between pop/experimental and abstract/structure.

Tell me a little bit about Dumfries and Galloway. I know much of The Wicker Man was filmed in the vicinity, which is wild. How does the landscape affect the music?

Liminal, fringe spaces are always interesting places for creativity. The way that land visually falls away into the sea in the imagery of The Wicker Man has a similar energy to the kind of stuff I’m interested in: where rural and (semi-rural) Scotland uncomfortably meet urban areas. The boondocks, interspersed with fragments of debris and flickering housing scheme street lights. These places (and the artistic exploration of these places) imbue my work. 

Is there an ideal listening environment or frame-of-mind for Lessening? 

The records (as with most music of this genre) require a certain amount of engagement. The pieces are musical conversations – they want to start a dialog with the listener and, I think, reject passivity. I like the poetics of the bedroom for music listening – that’s where I created the music, and that’s where it probably resonates best. 

• Ralph Kinsella’s Lessening is out now on 8D Industries.

#Worktones: Autechre, Oliver Coates, Giadar

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Autechre – SIGN → Sasha Frere-Jones interviewed the legendary Autechre in one of his recent SF/J newsletters. It’s a lovely interview, with insight into the new album’s mechanics and how the duo manages to work together from different cities in COVID-times. But a highlight is the prose of Frere-Jones — I love how he writes about the music he loves. Check out his on-point description of Autechre’s album:

SIGN flirts with disintegration but only lightly, throwing its weight into a smooth ravine lined with translucent panels and reflective tape, a river of light running below the wind of turbines.

That’s a chilling reminder that I really need to work on my metaphors. But that won’t stop me from dropping some words of my own about this fascinating album.

Undoubtedly, there’s programming and coding involved in making this music. Numbers and figures set into a machine, then let loose to create tones and noises. How random are these tracks? Is this set-it-and-go music? Like Eno’s generative experiments, the process would border on ‘the joke’s on us’ if the result weren’t so lovely. 

I also like how this album can float in the background but is also open to deep listening. In other words, SIGN is a prime #Worktones candidate but also enjoys attentive ear-analysis. I haven’t immersed myself in Autechre’s back catalog in a while, but I can’t recall other efforts sharing these opposing qualities throughout an entire tracklist. 

SIGN has already received its fair share of accolades — and also criticism of what some see as a compromised sound. As the follow-up to an eight-hour album, SIGN won’t seem anything but a compromise to those critics. But, for me, the tug-of-war between the off-putting and the inviting is a sweet spot. Autechre’s done it, and, judging by how many times I’ve already listened to SIGN, it’s right in the pocket. 

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Oliver Coates – skins n slime → The new album from the innovative cellist finds Coates exploring his mesmerizing string-layers in forms halfway between compositional and textural. The music is also lightly confrontational, Coates’s instrument overdriven to excess and crackling with electricity. skins n slime appears separated into two sections, with the five-part “Caregiver” suite comprising the first half while the second half begins after a brief song ‘from The Bird Game soundtrack.’ “Caregiver part 2 (4am)” and “Caregiver part 5 (money)” are striking by how the strings take on the quality of either a distorted harmonium or Robert Fripp’s multi-layered guitar-tronics. Other moments resemble the cathartic plod of dark metal, a righteous feat for an artist working primarily with looped cello. The highlight for me is “Honey,” the penultimate track described in a RVNGIntl. press release as “tender, individual moments of pure cello beside decaying drone and the soaring planes.” It’s lovely, and I could listen to it all day.

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Giadar – Lost In My Underwater Unconscious → I recently watched this video essay about ‘the meaning of swimming pools in movies.’ The narrator tells us that filmic pools and bodies of water are often symbolic of a character’s subconscious feelings and thoughts. Dario Giardi, recording music as Giadar, captures this sentiment with his gorgeous EP, Lost In My Underwater Unconscious. The five tracks — each named after a different word in the release title — study ambient music’s melodic strain. The thematic inspiration and overall sound classify as ‘new age’ but lack the pomp and schmaltz often found in that genre. Piano’ed tones, embraceable synth pads, and iced gully reverbs pleasantly spill over these tracks. Dario tells me, “We have reached a kind of alienation from sound that has turned us into passive players without being aware of it. We are no longer used to paying attention to the features of what Murray Schafer has termed our soundscape.” Through his soundscapes, Schafer promoted the idea of acoustic ecology — understanding our relationship with the surrounding environment through the sounds around us. As Giadar, Dario explores this gentle power and its capability for healing — a welcome prospect in a year of turmoil. This EP, his debut, I believe, is a promising addition to a greater curative mission.

Bells and Mechanical Tune-Teasers

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Spotify Shuts Out SongShift → SongShift is a popular iOS app that allows the transferring of playlists across platforms. That is, if you use Apple Music (like me) and want to grab one of Joe Muggs’ Spotify-only Soft Music For Hard Times playlists, SongShift makes it happen. Now it seems Spotify is pouring the jerk sauce on this recipe, as the SongShift team recently made this announcement: “The Spotify Developer Platform Team reached out and let us know we’d need to remove transferring from their service to a competing music service or have our API access revoked due to TOS violation … as of SongShift v5.1.2, you will no longer be able to create transfers from Spotify to another music service.”

I guess one can understand the rationale. Spotify’s strength and differentiator, as far as music listening goes, is its playlists. If you’re into Spotify-only playlists, transferring them to your streaming place of choice might keep you from committing to their platform. Transferability makes it easier to leave the Spotify ecosystem, too. But it still comes off as a weaselly power move, especially as all other services allow these transfers (for now — this decision could set the tone). 

Spotify is a public critic of Apple’s walled garden, and Jason Snell points out this hypocrisy on his Six Colors blog: 

Spotify hates how Apple tends its own ecosystem, but it has zero interest in allowing its customers to migrate metadata in any way that might make it more convenient to leave Spotify behind. That’s their decision to make, of course, but for a company that claims to support consumer freedom, it has just made a hypocritical decision designed to reduce the freedom of its own customers.

One can argue about ownership of playlists, but the music is not the property of Spotify or anyone else besides the rights-holders. And I’m sure rights-holders would prefer the containers for their music remain fungible across applicable services. 

But what are you gonna do? I suppose if you use SongShift, maybe don’t update to the latest version (though I don’t know for sure if that will make a difference). And transfer those Spotify playlists as soon as you can, even if you use something other than SongShift. I’m sure Spotify will quickly put the kibosh on those other services, too.

Update: Spotify has done an about-face. Adds SongShift: “The only caveat is, you have to have created the playlist yourself, or the playlist must be collaborative and followed by you.”

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The Company That Has a Monopoly on Ice Cream Truck Music → The origins of the music boxes playing from ice cream trucks are fascinating. Today’s familiar sound was once in a heated competition with sleigh-bells (“ringing a bell all day long soon proved to be too manually taxing for drivers”) and resistance from older generations complaining about the noise (little did they know).

Nichols Electronics persevered and still delivers 300-400 music boxes a year. That seems low, but the company — which has provided these boxes for several decades — is comfortable with its niche’ monopoly.’ Nichols Electronics is a lesson for labels and artists — find your audience, serve only them, and prosper with consistency despite limited opportunities for growth. 

I also like the strategic rules that Nichols Electronics sets for songs included in their music boxes: 

• They’re short and easy to remember … the perfect length at between 15 and 45 seconds.
• They’re structurally simple: “You don’t want the music to be very full,” music historian Daniel T. Neely tells us. “If it’s too complicated, the message becomes kind of muddled.”
• They’re typically rooted in nostalgia.

As the article explains, “That last point is perhaps the most crucial element of a good ice cream truck song: We’re drawn to these melodies because we’ve heard them before.” It also helps when the ‘nostalgic’ song is in the public domain and doesn’t require licensing fees. That aspect might be a problem for the heavy metal ice cream truck. 

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Yoshiaki Ochi – Natural Sonic → Today, I randomly happened across a lovely percussive ambient album from composer Yoshiaki Ochi. Light On The Attic’s Kankyō Ongaku compilation featured this Japanese artist, as did Music For Dreams’ Japanese music collection Oto No Wa. Natural Sonic calms with tropical sounding wooden percussion, floating between the tribal, the distant, and the contemporary. In my interview with Elijah Knutsen, an enthusiast of Japanese ambient music, he describes how the Kankyō Ongaku genre often features the “natural sound of life, with bits of melody blended between the long stretches of environmental sounds.” Natural Sonic includes these elements on a few of the songs — beach surf on “Woods from the Sea,” or bird sounds on “Anywhere.” But the lack of synthesizers draws Ochi’s album closer to the likes of Martin Denny (except the bird sounds here are real) than the pioneers of Asian ambient music. And, interestingly, the organic materials that populate the album result in a timelessness. Natural Sonic was recorded in 1990, a fact I had to look up as listening gave no easy clues to its year of origin.