Pretty Pig to the Slaughter

Magic?  Anger?  Experimental nonsense?  Nazis on a warpath?  Death in June’s All Pigs Must Die has been called all those things.  No matter what you call it, though, it is amazing.

The story behind the album goes something like this: Douglas Pearce, Death in June’s masked face, had some issues with the business practices of World Serpent Distribution, a company he helped create.  When Pearce finally got fed up, he made this album as a ritualized magic attack to take it down.  Yes, that’s the story, and if you don’t believe it keep in mind that Pearce himself has called the release “a cleaning, an act of revenge and contempt.”  (Take that, Rage Against the Machine.)

Regardless of what one thinks of that tale, the 2001 result is a stunning work of art just shy of 40 minutes in scope.  Part neofolk and part experimental mind destroyer, these 11 songs will have an effect on you … and for some, that effect is far from positive.  There are people cannot stand to listen to the songs because they sound so “wrong” and “evil.”  Others, like myself, have no problem with Pearce’s “We Said Destroy II” and “Ride Out!”  And yes, that is Boyd Rice doing the narration.  (More magic at work.)

Just looking at the cover of All Pigs Must Die lets you know you aren’t in for the usual Death in June release.  A masked Pearce wielding a knife amongst the Three Little Pigs makes for quite an alarming photo.  It looks clandestine.  It looks sinister.  It looks like a warning, and it is a running theme throughout the work.  When you play it … well, that feeling doesn’t go away.

The title song is the first thing you’ll hear on the album.  It’s a calm, though somewhat disturbing tune.  “Tick Tock” is next, and is the first time listeners hear Rice’s voice.  It’s also calm and somewhat uncomfortable.  Song five is where it all starts to change.  “We Said Destroy II,” mentioned earlier, kicks the spell into full gear and takes any previous serenity and extinguishes it.  By the end of the album, senses are left reeling and fans divided.

I know where I stand on this release.  It has been said it is too self-indulgent, and that is true, but that is what makes it so remarkable.  It can’t be anymore self-indulgent actually, but it’s that way for a reason.  It was created with one thing in mind (and it should be noted that World Serpent did go out of business), and that “thing” beats the usual self-indulgence that is really just nonsense masked as soul-cleansing.  Pearce’s agenda here makes this unique in the annals of music history.  He understands that music can be magic (something I believe the old blues performers understood, too) better than any other performer alive today, and that shows here.  Death in June has rarely disappointed me, and this is no exception.


Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I did not receive this for review.  If you click on a link, you may earn me a commission.

Struttin' Cock in Arcata, California

There are about three bands I’m interested in seeing live these days.  Well, that may be a bit of an understatement.  I’d see anything on Voodoo Rhythm’s label, so that’s a stable of bands.  The other two are Death in June and NashvillePussy.  When I got word that Nashville Pussy was coming to Humboldt in February (Valentine's Week, no less), I was filled with the kind of internal conflict you only read about in literature or see in movies like Twilight or Throw Momma From the Train.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see the band.  Far from it.  The problem was that there were two things keeping me from buying a ticket.  One: there would be people there.  I hate people.  I don’t mind them individually, but put them in a group and suddenly what was tolerable on a one-on-one basis produces the most murderous thoughts in my mind.  As if the fact that Nashville Pussy wasn’t putting on a personal show for me wasn’t enough, there was the second problem:  the venue, which was Hum Brews … in Arcata, California.  Arcata is one of those places I do my best to avoid.  The people, the “vibe,” and even the town’s layout makes me froth at the mouth as if imitating Cujo.  If Al Qaeda was taking a poll of places one would most like a dirty bomb to be detonated, Arcata would have my vote.  Sayonara, Trust Fund Babies.

Then there was the fact that it was on Sunday night and I had to be at work early Monday morning.  That barely registered on the radar, as I usually only get three to four hours of sleep a night, but I’d be lying to say that time wasn’t a factor.

I remained conflicted right about up until the show date.  It seemed like an easy choice – just fucking go.  It really doesn’t get much easier than that.  For me, however, the cons were outweighing the positives.  Arcata.  People.  In order to help mitigate this mental stalemate, I decided to repeatedly call Hum Brews.  I figured if the show started just about on time and there was no opening band, I could actually tolerate the event.  So, a few days prior to the show I started calling, and must have done so about five times.  Every time I called I spoke to someone different.  Every time I got the same answer.  Band takes the stage at nine.  No opening band.  I figured that really meant the band would go on at 9:30, but I was convinced there would be no lame-ass opener.  I was partially right.

Butter Licker, RC/DC and I arrived at Hum Brews around ten of eight.  Why?  None of us knew.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.  I do know it wasn’t to take in Arcata’s atmosphere.  College kids who can’t handle their organic liquor and aimless thirtysomethings whose chief goal in life is to win the Pot Olympics are hardly people I want to converse with in any capacity other than to say, “Sorry I ran over you with my car.”  Since the show wasn’t set to start for about another hour, we waited, watched hockey coverage on television and had discussions about the fluid nature of reality and stealing artwork.  (Butter Licker did not like my example of the brain not being able to react properly to what it was seeing, and RC/DC did not appreciate my approval of art theft.)

About quarter after nine, the doors to the band area opened and we are the first through after paying our admission.  My initial thought was that the area was small and the stage far too compact.  A bar at the back of the room promised that if the music wasn’t your thing, overpriced drinks could soothe your savage soul.  We ended up taking a seat against the far wall.  I figured the band would take the stage in about fifteen minutes, sweat like hell, and we’d call it an evening.

By the time 10:30 reared its head, I was getting antsy.  The guy who let us through the doors had told me that Nashville Pussy’s rider said “no openers,” but when the band members got there they were apparently surprised by the fact that there was no opening band.  My guess is that they expected to go on around 10:30 because that would give the opening band time to do its magic.  When the musicians saw there was no opener they took it easy backstage and then came out to kick ass.

The crowd was small, though I wasn’t too surprised.  Arcata, while playing host to a lot of various musical acts, has little in the way of what I would call “good taste in music.”  Stale hip hop, faux indie a-go-go, and the ever-present reggae crap is the town’s musical backbone and it leaves much to be desired, though the people eat it up and little else.  The band took to the stage, however, and just started blasting through its sleazy Southern rock as if it were playing to an arena-sized crowd.  One song after another with little banter in between.  There was a moment when the singer, Blaine Cartwright, dedicated a song to Humboldt because he’s a lifelong “pothead” and we’ve been keeping the quality up and making America realize weed isn’t so bad.  (I guess those aimless thirtysomethings have something they can take pride in after all.  Let’s hear it for personal achievements!)  Nashville Pussy played a bunch of my favorites.  “Go to Hell.”  “Hitchhike Down to Cincinnati and Kick the Shit Out of Your Drunk Daddy,” “Wrong Side of a Gun,” “Struttin’ Cock” and so on.  Beautiful.  Insane.  Tight.  I had reviewed some of the band’s work back when I used to write for Tattoo Savage, and I can safely say the years have done little to slow the act down.  That said, there was a new addition to the band that caught my attention.

Butter Licker snapped this of Buitrago in action.

I found it fairly hard to ignore the bassist, Bonnie Buitrago, who was filling in for the super cool Karen Cuda while she was taking a break from the tour.  She was playing with a wild skill and abandon that floored me.  Few things in life are sexier than a woman kicking ass at something she is really good at doing.  Butter Licker agreed with me.  RC/DC didn’t, but only because she wasn’t paying attention.  I, on the other hand, barely noticed the rest of the band.  Buitrago was that demanding of my attention.

All in all, I made it through the night without gutting someone and had a pretty damn good time.  Nobody from Arcata attempted any kind of lame conversation with me, much to both of our good fortune, though Butter Licker was touched by someone she and RC/DC dubbed “Molester.”  Arcata didn’t give me some rare disease, either, and the only downside of the night was the ringing in my ears that served as a reminder that I was at a great show. 

Still, fuck Arcata.  Enjoy the dirty bomb.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I paid to get in the show.  Clicking on a link can earn me a commission.

The Burning Louisiana Sun

The story goes like this: Mama Rosin and HipboneSlim and the Kneetremblers met in France while performing at a blues festival’s Voodoo Rhythm jam stage.  You can’t really say the rest is history because there was no history until this release, Louisiana Sun, came out.  Mama Rosin together with Hipbone Slim and the Kneetremblers.  If you are familiar with the two bands, your reaction was probably a lot like mine.  “What?”

Mama Rosin is Cajun from Switzerland.  Hipbone is rockabilly from London.  Both bands are terrific in their own right, but when you first think of their sound combined … well, it’s not exactly peanut butter and chocolate.  Then you hear “Voodoo Walking” and think, “Okay, this is going to work.”

The two bands complement each other so well that it sounds like a brand new musical entity, though you can hear elements of the bands in each song.  If you are familiar with the bands, you can’t help but be a little mystified by it all.  If you never heard either band before, you’d be hard-pressed to figure out where one band begins and the other ends.  It sounds like one cohesive unit of musicians who have been playing together for years. 

There are a dozen songs to choose from here.  Not a single one is over three-and-a-half minutes long.  Not a single one is a disappointment, unless you don’t like this type of music.  I’m a fan of Cajun and rockabilly done Voodoo-style, however.  Foreigners once again prove they can do our music better than ourselves.  They still believe there’s magic in it, something that was beat out of our musicians in the ‘80s.  And for you surf fanatics, the title track is a take on “California Sun.”  You know the song.  It’s been in about 800 commercials.  It sounds better here.

Another brilliant release from Voodoo Rhythm.  

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer:  I DID receive this CD to review, and clicking on a link=commission.

Lick It

If you are a fan of the Dwarves, Lick It is a bit of an oddity.  If you look at the rest of the band's rather large idiscography, this one stands out as being different.

The band, which has put out releases like Blood Guts & Pussy, and once offered George W. Bush the rights to use its song "River City Rapist" for his presidential campaign, put out this two album (different colored vinyl to boot) release on Recess Records.  For people used to the sounds of Thank Heaven For Little Girls and Free Cocaine, this is a bit of a shock.  It is the band's ... psychedelic years.  Sorta.

This is some psychedelic stuff from the band's early days.  Songs like "Eat My Dinner," "Love Gestapo" and "I'm a Living Sickness" all have moments where you can hear the Dwarves that made such classics as "Demented" and "We Must Have Blood."  The difference is so glaring, however, that when I first bought this set I had a hard time enjoying it.  I'm not into psychedelic music all that much, and the Dwarves I like is the one that sings about Satan and tooling for warm teabags.  "Chocolate River"?  Really?

Now, as I write this, I sit on my couch.  The only light is the computer and a candle.  My fan is going, and Lick It is playing on my crappy turntable, which fits the sound just right.  Since purchasing this around 2000, it has grown on me.  In this atmosphere, after a stressful day of work, another phone call to a lawyer, putting in for writing jobs -- it all comes across as something kind of beautiful in its own weird way.

I don't think many people would find the Dwarves to be stress relief, but this double album works.  Maybe that says all the wrong things about me.  Then again, maybe it says everything that is right.

Burn Burn Satellite: The Sperm Festival Fascination

The early '80s.  I was exposed to Sigue Sigue Sputnik by People of all things.  The look of the band is what caught my eye.  The description of its music let me know I was on the right track.

The band's name was supposedly taken from a Russian youth gang and was said to translate to "Burn Burn Satellite."  This has been disputed.  Other names the band had toyed with were Sperm Festival and, one I really like for reasons clear to anyone who knows me well, Nazi Occult Bureau.  The band was described by founding member Tony James as "hi-tech sex and designer violence."  The music was rock with a liberal dose of sampling and electronic mayhem.  Commercial space was sold on the albums, and the look always mattered more than the sounds the band produced.  It was the 2000s before we knew what was possible.  All style.  All sex.  All violence.  Girls.  Rockets.  Voodoo.

In a word: cool.

I've always been interested in bands that have an interesting look.  (Hence part of my obsession with Death in June.)  Marilyn Manson and company are not eye catching enough for me.  In fact, the lads seem to fit a stereotype more than anything else.  Sputnik, however, was all high hair in an explosion of color, torn fishnets, and cod pieces.  Sperm festival, indeed.

When I eventually found the first album, Flaunt It, on cassette in a music store located in the Leigh Valley Mall, I raced home and played it as soon as I could.  It was ... amazing.  Crazy.  Frantic.  Chaotic.  Ripsaw guitars.  It conjured up images of neon-lit human sacrifices in Times Square on New Year's Eve.  If drug-fueled group sex had a sound, this was it, and I was hooked.

The band eventually split and reunited several times.  (Interestingly, the original vocalist, Martin Degville is reported to have made "specialist porn films" after the first break up.  I can see that, and it isn't pretty.)  That seems to be the way for many bands.  Sputnik, however, never seemed to click like that first round. The world it had helped usher in, was beyond them now.  As a culture, we left irony behind because we thought were above it.  We were, however, knee deep in it, but we became so distracted with technology and consumerism that we missed the signposts.  2008 gave fans a compilation and nothing more since.  The satellite burned.  The designer violence wasn't as cool in a world where school shootings and 9/11 were fresh in people's short-lived memories.  Hi-tech sex had been replaced by Internet masturbation to videos of two girls sharing a cup.  Sputnik, once cutting-edge, seemed quaint and, yes, ridiculous.

I still listen to the band.  I still crave those strange Japanese influences and fascination with A Clockwork Orange.  The world may have changed.  Bands that were influenced by Sputnik have gone on to have some great careers.  I still have the memories, though.

And it would have been so much cooler if the boys had stuck to Nazi Occult Bureau.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: Clicking on a link may get me some cash.

Wendy Carlos and Clockwork Magic

Sublime.  Originally released as Walter Carlos' Clockwork Orange in 1972, it was later titled Wendy Carlos's [sic] Clockwork Orange upon rerelease as an "enchanced CD" in 1998.  Being a huge fan of A Clockwork Orange, I had to have it.  It is pure magic.

The electronic music was made by Wendy (at that time still Walter) after she released Switched-On Bach.  She and producer Rachel Elkind had started messing with a spectrum follower, an electronic device that converts sound into electronic signals that mimic the rhythms and overtones of the original sampling.  They wanted to make the first electronic "vocal" work and had picked the Choral Movement from the Ninth Symphony (Beethoven, of course) for this.  In the midst of doing this, Carlos was introduced Anthony Burgess' novel.  It inspired Carlos to create a musical "poem" of the book.  At this point, Carlos learned that Stanley Kubrick had finished a film version of the historical novel, and a meeting occured.  Some of the music Carlos had created was used in the film.  This release is not the film soundtrack, but the book soundtrack, if you will.

If you enjoy electronic music and classical music, this is a must have.  If you are a fan of A Clockwork Orange, this is also mandatory.  Unfortunately, fans of all these things are mostly unaware of the existence of this release.  I have included a link to the release on Amazon, but be warned, it is going for over $50, and I am not selling mine. 

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I did not receive this to review.  If you click on the link I may earn a commission.

More Death in June

Douglas Pearce, Death In June's main man, has, according to some accounts, straddled the line on what his music meant in order to "win mainstream acceptance."

I could see nothing further from the truth.

In every interview I've read with Pearce, in every bit of music I've listened to, I see nothing that says Death In June or Pearce was ever trying to gain mainstream acceptance.  Pearce is far too smart to want that, and Death In June's music is far too smart to ever obtain that.  In order to gain mainstream acceptance, one must create music that is easily digested and thought about as little as possible.  Anyone familiar with Death In June or Pearce knows this is not something the man or the band is capable of doing in any way, shape or form.

Death in June is thinking man's music.  It is not the radio friendly slop that is spoon-fed and has as little staying power as it has depth.  Pearce has never come across (at least in what I've read) as a man who seeks mainstream acceptance in the way most people come to define it.  Would he be satisified if the world embraced his music and understood it?  I can't think of an artist who wouldn't be.  The fact is, though, most of the music culture is not ready to do so and never will be.  You won't hear "All Pigs Must Die," on the radio, though it is a haunting beautiful song.  (In fact, if you've never heard it, I imagine you already formed an opinion on what this song sounds like.  You'd be wrong.  I once told the title to someone, and when I played it for her, she said, "That can't be the song you are naming.  This is incredible.")

Mainstream acceptance is best left to American Idol winners and almost-was types.  It's best left to the bubble gum smears and the party anthems that encapsulate mindless summer fun.  Death in June, even at its most mainstream (as if there were such a thing), can't compete with that kind of sugar.  It is, despite some people's beliefs, music meant to weed out the unthinking masses.  It says "stay away" in no uncertain terms.  To believe otherwise is not only an insult, but a total misunderstanding of the music.  Listen to this and tell me different.

Forgotten Million Sellers

There is something disturbing about Roy & The Devil's Motorcyle Forgotten Million Sellers.  Originally released back in the days of despair that was 1997, this oft-described "psychedelic blues punk" was either ahead of its time or a troublesome disc of problems that included fucked-up sounds and listener confusion.  When Voodoo Rhythm released it back in the day, copies were sent back to the label with complains that the sound quality was off.  Today it is a collector's item.

Again, disturbing.

Voodoo recently re-released it along with the new CD. What can you really say?  You either get it or you don't.  It is far more experimental than the latest release.  It's fourteen songs often sound like one large composition.  It seems designed to alienate listeners rather than draw them in.  It was then, as it is now, ahead of its time ... only today's audiences may be more forgiving of this sort of thing.  Even the cover art harkens back to the Eerie Materials days, and this would kind of fit right in with the stuff that label was doing.  Though, if you want to think of something really scary, the Eerie Materials releases were far more coherent.

By now you have a good idea of whether or not you want this CD that defies description.  If you manage to find it, the intro will give you a good idea of what you are in for.  If you can make it past that and through the other 13 tracks you can consider yourself one of the few, the proud, the initiated.  This is not everyone's bag, and it is rare when you will come across something that does its best to eliminate all listeners.  For that along it deserves respect.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review, and clicking on a link may earn me cash.

Roy and the Devil's Motorcycle -- Psychedelic Drunkeness

Tell It To The People is bound to become another cult classic, much like Roy and the Devil's Motorcycle's first release.  There is something about this bluesy, garage, psychedelic and demented band from the Swiss Alps that appeals to people.  It doesn't embrace too much of any one genre, but takes the best bits from all to create a sound all its own.

There are nine songs on this release, and each one sounds like it could be from a different band.  If all you heard was "Piggy Bank" you'd get one impression of the band, but if you listened to "Six Pink Cadillac" you would have another.  "Casey Jones?"  Yep, another impression.  Schizophrenic or brilliant?  That's purely up to the listener.  Some people can't handle things like that, others point to that as a sign of musical genius.

Tomorrow, 4/17/12, the band plays Nambucca in London.  They have four more dates set after that (not in the US).  If it's like earlier shows, the band will do the unexpected.  It will defy expectations.  The music it makes may leave you scratching your head, especially if you go into it expecting not to be challenged.  Voodoo Rhythm doesn't put out records like that, though.  Voodoo treats its bands with the respect they deserve.  Things like demographics and target markets mean nothing to the company.  I've called it music for musicians in the past.  This release is music for all artists.  Catch these misfits if you can.  If not, good luck hunting it down.  I don't think it will be easy.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review, and clicking on a link may earn me some cash.

Rock the Tabla

Rock the Tabla features Egyptian mainstay Hossam Ramzy and a gaggle of "special guests" on a mission to ... rock something or other.

Aside from the song "Six Teens," this is almost instantly forgettable as it lacks soul.  What is supposed to be a release full of "electrifying rhythmic collaborations" is nothing more than an extended jam session with artists who are better off as background musicians.

Harsh words?  Yes.  But true.  Ramzy can sometimes create some magic.  I've heard it on other releases.  Here, however, his music is background material, as is that of the music of his special guests.  This is surprising when you realize the idea behind this release was floating around for a decade before it ever got made.  Perhaps ten years ago it seemed like a good idea.  Now, however, it falls far short of anything that could even be considered interesting.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review.

Psychedelic Pirates

I am not a fan of psychedelic music, but I like this.  First there's the band's name: Pirate Love.  Than there's the album title: Black Vodoun Space Blues.  Birthed from Oslo.  Inspired by the Seeds.  A previous release called Death Surf Negro Instrumentals.  I didn't have to hear it to know it would be good.  What I didn't expect, however, was how much bite it would possess.

When I think of psychedelic music (space blues or not), the word that usually comes to mind is swirly.  It just reminds of kaleidoscope visions and lollipops.  This is more like an acid trip and switchblade knives (blades out, motherfuckers).  Lots of effects.  Lots of guitar.  Lots of wailing.

Voodoo Rhythm, of course, has released this 12 song monster to some great press.  "In A Dirty Cellar," "Sick of You," "Death Trip," "Laughing Gas," "Broken Soul #2" -- these are songs designed to not only set a mood but to teleport you to another time.  A place where werewolves smoke hash and don't care who they sodomize.  Yeah, it's a little eerie and not at all the kind of happy thing you'd expect to hear in an elevator, but it does one thing a lot of music fails to do: it works.


Don't expect to find this release too easily in your local record shoppe.  I'm pretty sure that if you ask for it you are going to get some of those infamous blank stares meant to convey a level of cool you can never hope to obtain.  Don't let that high school grad (barely) bring you down.  Go to Voodoo.  Go to Amazon.  Whatever.  Obtain it.  And stay the hell out of that record store.  That was yesterday's news.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer:  I received this to review.  I may earn a commission from any of your clicks.

Hot Sauce From Haiti and Indian Ragas

Sunday found me cooking up a batch of Haitian hot sauce (Sauce Diabolique) for yet another office potluck. As I prepped the habaneros, I had Baluji Shrivastav's Classical Indian Ragas -- Shadow of the Lotus playing on the stereo.  I know, I know.  It's that Baluji Shrivastav.

As I've noted on many occasions, my taste in music is pretty varied.  I either really like world music or dislike it.  I don't have many in-between spots.  This release fell into the "don't like" category, but not because the sitar-fueled, overly long songs (the shortest is eight-and-a-half minutes long, while the longest is pushing a half hour) didn't deliver the level of classic that was promised.  No.  It was because I didn't even know it was on.  The music here is more subtle than what you would find playing in some New Age book/crystal cleansing store -- as if such a thing were even possible.  Background music has a place, but music you can't even perceive on the most minute of levels?  That's not good.  In the beginning I even had to check to make sure the CD was working properly.

I know there will be someone out there who likes the five songs here.  Perhaps they can go into great detail as to why this release is one of the most underrated of all time.  I'd love to hear that argument.  I'd love to be swayed by it.  I don't think it will happen, though.  Anyone attracted to this is bound to have a personality as nearly as non-existent as the music, and that doesn't bode well for the swaying.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review and clicking on a link could earn me a commission.

The Shocker -- Up Your ... Ass Tray?

I'm not sure what an Ass Tray is.  The Shocker (you know what it's named after) seem to know, however.  That's why the band, featuring L7's Jennifer Finch, named its album Up Your Ass Tray -- The Full Length.  It doesn't matter either way, really.  The Shocker (again, you know what it is named after) has made a fairly rocking release that has some decent songs and even some staying power.

Of the 11 songs on here, most have something to warrant repeated listens.  Even the cover of "Body Count," as strange an idea as it may be, has "show ender before the encore" written all over it.  I'm sure the crowd goes nuts for it.  By the CD's end, however, something comes to mind that makes this release a little less enticing.

Yes, the songs are well-played and seem destined to get you flailing around in a pit in some dive bar somewhere.  In that they succeed quite well.  They don't do any more than that, though.  They go as quickly as they came, making this a CD that is played only when you come across it in the collection ... after you've forgot about it for a few months.  I like it, but not that much. 

I also don't know why every song seems to come across as kind of a joke (see the band's name even), but that doesn't help matters any.

The Shocker is a band I find far more enjoyable than L7, but that isn't saying much.  Keep in mind that if you seek this out, you may find yourself listening only once in a blue moon.  It will please you for that listen ... at least until you turn it off.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I did receive this for review.  If you click on a link, I may earn a commission

Graves Brothers Deluxe

In 2005 the Graves Brothers Deluxe released Light.

That's a rather simple sentence that doesn't tell you much, yet at the same time tells you all you need to know. The release is nowhere near as simple.

I'm a fan of music that mixes styles naturally and with grace.  That's what you have here.  Rock, country, voodoo ... all of it comes together in way that flows.  "The White Devil's Death Song," "Nerves," "Legs Rub Together" and seven other songs fill this disc with stuff that is bound to bring a smile to your face once or twice.  And there's the rub.  Once or twice.

Even though this release is good in its weird, eclectic way, one can't help but feel that this has been done better by others.  You wouldn't be wrong there, but if you listen closely you'll realize there is more going on here than meets the ears.  There is a skill level that says this should somehow be just a tad bit more memorable.  Why is it that the songs leave your head almost as soon as you hear them?  Why aren't you singing them the next day?  Energy.

These songs only expend as much energy needed to carry them on to the next number.  Nothing more.  While that is fine for the duration of the song, it makes them less than memorable on many different levels.  That's quite a shame, as this is obviously the product of some talented musicians (and quite a few of them).  If they showed more spirit and paid less attention to technical chops, which really impresses nobody but music students, they would have had a release worthy of multiple listens for years down the line.  Instead, Light is something to be dusted off and listened to once every few years.  A reminder, perhaps, of what could have been.


Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review and if you click on the ad, I may earn a commission.

A Little Stress Relief

Needing a break from editing an interview for the upcoming Film Threat magazine relaunch, I decided to put on some music I needed to review. Stress is killing me, so I picked something I thought would be a bit festive: Orchestra Makassy. It was festive, all right, but did little in the way of relieving my stress or the intense pain in my back. Arc Music, under the guise of "Legends of East Africa," put this CD out. It's apparently a re-release of Agwaya with two never before released tracks. If that got you excited, then by all means rush out and purchase this. If you gave an indifferent shrug, well, you aren't alone. I had much the same reaction. I don't know what the fuss is about and why this needed a re-release. Wasn't once good enough? It was for me. One listen. That's it. That's all that was warranted. Amazon listeners, however, think differently. If you read the reviews on Amazon, they are all positive, with some calling this the best CD they own. (His or her collection must be questionable at best.) It is almost as if this CD has become some kind of second coming. Maybe it is if you are a fan of African music (I like some of it). If not, though, reading these reviews makes you wonder if you listened to the same thing. I know I questioned it. By this point, you know whether or not you want this. You don't need me to point you in the right direction. Nope, you have odd Amazon patrons for that. Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this CD to review. If you buy it and join the ranks of the brainwashed, I may earn a commission, so click away.

Desert Music With the Bedouins

From 1955-1960 Deben Bhattacharya took to Bedouin tents between Jordan and Iraq and recorded the music of these people. The end result is a 14 song CD with songs like "Bedouin Love Song (1)," "Dabkeh Dance," "Coffee Grinding Rhythm," "King Hussain" and more. If the Bedouins fascinate you, this is the release to get. Traditional instruments like the buzuk and tambourine are heard on every track. Atmosphere is so embedded in this release that you can almost smell the camels and the baking sand. Unfortunately, if you have no interest in Middle Eastern music or the Bedouins there is zero reason to listen to this, as the music just isn't very exciting. I do like world music, but I'm fairly picky when it comes to what I enjoy. This does not meet my criteria for something that is worthy of repeated plays. One listen was enough for me. I heard it. I determined it sounded authentic enough, and then I went about my day. Bedouin fans, take note, however, this is your Grail. Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review and clicking on a link may earn me a commission.

Masters of Indian Classical Music to Bore Listeners

Arc Music's Masters of Indian Classical Music Vol. 2 is a competent release with many different musicians doing their best to bring listeners a healthy dose of classical music Indian-style.  These are long compositions that, if one is of the right mindset, can soothe the savage breast.  Unfortunately, I am not of the right mindset.  I embrace the savage breast.

My first indication that this would go wrong was to see that this was only six tracks ... over two full-length CDs.  Now, I enjoy instrumentals, but they have to create a mood or atmosphere for me to actually care about them.  These six tracks don't do that, and when you couple them with their length it starts to become an exercise in self-restraint not to pull them out of the CD player.

It has been said that classical music is dead.  Listeners are few and far between, and musicians no longer want to create anything in similar to the music of days long past, so the future looks grim.  This CD is part of the problem.  Purists will enjoy it, but I doubt it will move them.  Casual listeners, such as myself, will find themselves annoyed.  It's a no-win situation all the way around.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review and may earn a commission if you click on a link.