Aspidistrafly
The Ghost Of Things
[self-released]

by K. Vicious

I do believe it is some kind of compulsion that drives all conscientious shoegazers to obsessively chase down the sounds etched in their minds' realm. Local dream popmeisters, Aspidistra Fly, happen to be no exceptions, judging from these four spindly compositions off their new The Ghost Of Things EP.

Leaving the duo's pithy attempt to explain their music-making methodology aside (sorry guys), it's hard not to be drawn towards their ethereal sound so richly strewn with delicate sonic details - i.e. this music speaks for itself. And this is lovelystuff. The EP unfurls slowly through vocalist April's comfortable tenor and quiet shudders of scenery noise while guitarist Ricks' ominous melodies telegraphing a sickened suburbia, perforated and moth eaten. The Ghost Of Things' appeal trickles down to its ephemeral quality, a short-lived magic coming to sparks in Ricks and Aprils' intimate soundstage.

Secret Machines
Now Here Is Nowhere
[Reprise]

by K. Vicious

Early press reports on the Secret Machines had been so much focused on the musical pioneers that the band is supposed to sound like (in that order: Pink Floyd, Can, Spacemen 3, Led Zeppelin) that the sheer visceral impact of their major label debut seems almost neglected. Let's just say that this exciting trio is more than just krautrock kitsch. Now Here Is Nowhere (extra points for the inside reference to Neil Young and Crazy Horse?) provides ample evidence that the Secret Machines have a knack for channeling their vast influences into something original. The nine-minute opening salvo of First Wave Intact welcomes you through a thundering wall of sound and from there onwards, the invective of their inflamed noise only gets stronger and stronger.

This seamless ride of dingy soundscapes and stadium rock action succeeds with convincing returns, even if vocalist Ben Curtis does spend the better half of the album waxing occult and doing his glam dog/man/star impressions. There is psychedelia in the songs as well, in how martial drums and shifting keyboards crawl out from the spacey chrysalis of stoner tunes Pharaoh's Daughter and You Are Chains. Smothered in atmospheric hues, Now Here Is Nowhere is a rush for the senses - especially for rock fans steeped in all things epic and classic.

Tortoise
It's All Around You
[Thrill Jockey]

by Lounge Lizard

When I first came into contact with Tortoise, I was still wearing green and serving the country. There was only one stereo in the bunk and I just put on their 3rd offering "TNT". Amazingly, it was highly well-received among my bunkmates whose musical tastes ran from house, Madonna and jazz. Probably, it's due to the folks subjected to listening to Madonna's "Ray Of Light" for 12 fuckin' times in a row. When Radiohead's "Kid A" came out, the distinct shades of the Chicagoan quintet were splashed all over the album. Hail to the thief, indeed!

How does the new album hold out compared to their previous works? While the free form jazz and shards of dissonant guitars still stand, the album contains a stronger sense of urgency compared to 2001's "Standards". The opening and self-titled track, 'It's All Around You' lulls you back into a comfortable sense of familiarity. Slightly overdriven arpeggios drive the undercurrent of the tune, flanked by trembling vibraphones. Sprinklings of Thelonius Monk-style piano playing are dusted throughout the tune while the song is anchored by a shuffling polyrhythmic beat, a Tortoise signature.

While the self-titled track is definitely the centerpiece of the album which the band revolves the concept around, 'Stretch (You Are All Right)' is a piece that cannot be ignored. Simply the grooviest Tortoise track ever. A pulsating bassline guides the entire song throughout. Sparse guitar and vibes appreggios intertwined like a lover's embrace in the extended bridge freakout jam. Adopting a typical jazz arrangement, the band ends off the tune with a return to the main musical theme developed at the start of the track.

What's pretty intriguing to me is the pop accessibility of the album. This is a group which has been so left-field since its inception back in the early 90's. While I'm not saying the group has started rolling out Britney Spears type of tunes, the melodies offered by "It's All Around You" are definitely the poppiest by the group ever. Perhaps, when you have entrenched yourselves in technicality, it's a good retreat to go back to something simple and direct. An experiment in instrumental pop tunes.

Godspeed You Black Emperor
Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven
[Kranky]

by B boy

It is nigh impossible to write a meaningful review centered round clever lyrics, 60s rock influences or even studio production aesthetics about this third album by Godspeed You Black Emperor. Much of the Montreal post-rockers' music is characterized by the dramatic use of tension and release, tension and release and repeat as desired. I seem to jest but to reduce it to such a simple formula by no means takes away from sheer grandeur and majesty that is Lift Your Skinny Fists like Antennas to Heaven.

A 2-disc set consisting of 4 roughly 25 minute movements (I say movements for they can hardly be classified as simply as songs) that alternate between operatic bombast and thin white static; the first disc starts off with Storm which begins innocently enough with sweetly reverbed guitar backed by chimes before building to a riot of caterwauling horns and strings that eventually crash down to a whispery theremin. The rest of the track swings between the cacophonies of freeform noise to angry tribal marches to recordings of supermarket announcers. Though emotionally disconnected, the rapturous melodies and unbridled chaos of Storminject it with a highly pleasurable mess of manic emotion.

The next track, Static differentiates itself the most readily from the rest of the album by being the dark goth one. Droning feedback and bleak soundscapes of lost radio signals supply the backdrop in the beginning before sliding into stolen televangelist recordings recounting out of body experiences being played over mournful guitar and weeping strings. A lone cello plucks a noir movie melody before being taken over by a music box playing over a wailing distorted guitar. The cinematic theme continues as furious violins and a repeating guitar figure accelerate the suspense and terror Psycho-style, finally culminating in an empty expanse of echoes and drones. Full of bleak emptiness, gloom and stabs of suspense; Static is satisfyingly sinister.

Sleep begins the second disc with Murray Ostril reminiscing about Coney Island before a quiet acoustic starts to strum as sad strings and a faraway theremin gradually wells up from below. Nostalgia turns into an overwhelmingly powerful sentiment of loss and regret as the theremin soars to become a Wagnerian soprano in a full-blown tragic opera before abruptly shifting tack as military drums and acoustic guitar arpeggio propel an urgent guitar melody higher and faster, finally hurtling into a frenzy of pick scrapings. A hesitant lone guitar emerges with glockenspiel before morphing into a full-on rock out that bursts through un-ending canyons before winding down to a jaunty snare drum and strings that build again and again into a rock out again but this time rocketing higher and higher out through the atmosphere and falling upward into space. Sleep is the most emotionally rich track of the record with its heart-swelling regret, simple nostalgia and urgent desire for escape.

Penultimate track Antennas to Heaven starts with the wobbly old vinyl recording of a lone country singer which quickly dissolves to a space age universe of bells, chimes and galloping percussion that in turn slowly fades to singing French kindergarten children. They recede into waves of lolling feedback before suddenly bursting into the most gorgeous melody of the album so far, rocket-propelled rock, textured with background synths and glockenspiel, lasting only a short minute before exploding into nothing, leaving behind dreary echoing winds. A dramatic piano motif slowly emerges, gradually building layer and layer before releasing its melody to a lazy slide guitar that quickly shifts gear into layers of interplaying guitars that abruptly dissipates back into the bleak windy landscape. The track slowly echoes with ghostly wails and feedback, eventually giving way to a coda of washing waves of shimmering feedback and what sound like interstellar whale songs. With the most shifts in genre and mood, the multi-faceted Antennas is my personal favourite with its happy mess of childlike melodies and celestial sonatas, as well as being easily the most image-laden of the 4 movements.

Bursting out with a million different emotions, sun drenched orchestral movements and scattered snatches of gorgeous melodies, Godspeed never really repeat themselves, bringing on crescendo after crescendo of majestic sound and fury, interspersed with bleak, empty soundscapes that never seem to feel as cold as they should. Lift Your Skinny Fists like Antennas to Heaven feels the way gospel should sound like a thousand years from now, its synaesthesiac experience leaving me with the taste of the warm sun on my tongue, the sight of a thousand howling winds and the skin-scorching touch of swelling strings being played in the middle of the Grand Canyon.