REVIEWS: ALTAR OF FLIES "The Funeral Tapes" C30 from Cassette Gods More plodding, dismal ruminations provided by the eternal downer-vision of Mattias Gustafsson. "The Funeral Tapes" looks to be a reissue of a 2007 release originally on Swedish label KSP (Kassettbolaget Svart Pyramid). The first half or so might not convert any believers or convince the already aquainted that this is isn't just another random entry from an over prolific project, but before the bitter end those with patience will find some of the most considered, suspenseful and straight-up frightening material heard yet from Mr. Gustafsson. If you missed out on the AoF / Sewer Election split LP on Release the Bats this year (which is ridiculous, because it's still available from the label), I can't think of a more appropriate introduction. Or anything else still in print (edit: this too, unfortunately, has sold out). from Foxy Digitalis 905 Tapes has re-issued "The Funeral Tapes" by the prolific Swedish noise project of Mattias Gustafsson, Altar of Flies. This was previously issued on a one-sided cassette by the Swedish KSP label in an edition of 40. With two tracks now on each side, there is a nice balance struck between the more feral and the more restrained elements of the Altar of Flies sound. At his most aggressive, as on the first track on the second side, Gustafsson takes what sounds like at the onset to be microphone feedback and builds it into a mass of sound that verges on speaker meltdown. However, there is a hint of tension and release that emerges from within the murk as the track proceeds. The more restrained tracks that close out both sides bear some similarity to the spooked atmospherics of Wolf Eyes: plodding rhythmic clang and thud with echo-laden sounds fluttering about. There is a strong compositional sense on display here though, on all of these tracks for that matter. This aspect, along with whatever knobs and keys he’s tinkering with to create those shape shifting sounds, seems to place "The Funeral Tapes" more in line with Helge Sten’s ‘audio virus’ work in both Supersilent and as Deathprod. A damn compelling listen no matter how you size it up and certainly stands out amongst the more recent noise albums I’ve laid ears on. Unfortunately, you may have to do some searching to track this one down as it appears it may already be out-of-print again. If that’s the case, you’ll want to be on the look out for Altar of Flies releases down the road. 7/10 BLOWN DOORS "Blown Mind" C24 from The Wire Magazine, issue 294 Delaware based due whose take on harsh electronics is like listening to a thunderstorm approaching while on acid. It's a sequence of hollow earth rumbles that make the room feel as thought it's shifting. Which is pretty hep. from Cassette Gods Another one from Mike Haley's 905 Tapes, Blown Doors offers something similar to the Altar of Flies piece on the same label. Which is to say: wretched, saturated with sounds of decay and obsessed with tone more than texture. Although it only truly gets going on the B side, this recording of a duo jam featuring Haley (Wether) and Sean Connolly isn't too shabby. As with the other releases on this label, "Blown Mind" has a photocopied j-card with a cover insert printed in color. DROUGHTER + GNARLY SHEEN Split C30 from Foxy Digitalis Yesterday I pulled into the driveway of my parent’s suburban home and a cruiser was waiting for me. I approached liquid terminator's driver's side window; admittedly I was a bit on edge. All I saw was his arm hanging out of the window, which manifested itself as some sort of disembodied, braggadocio-emitting prop. Moments earlier, I was listening to the Droughter/Gnarly Sheen split c30. As a result of this strange collision, I realized that my noise life had taken a some very wrong turns, and that I was now on a permastoned jet ski ride into the middle of a ubiquitous body of water; no land in sight, just stillness and repetition. It’s a place that is neither dangerous nor cathartic. Was I supposed to be feeling something? In fact so much noise is creepy crawly spooky cooky these days, that ubiquity has taken the edge off of the edges which I had spent so long striving for. So what I'm going to recommend is, if you grip this tape, slam it into your car deck and go find some cop cars. Because ultimately, paranoia soundtracks sound a lot better when big bad bacon bits with sirens for eyes are stationed in your freedom zone. It’s like listening to your own requiem. Highlights from this tape include Droughter doing a barrel roll out of a burning pyramid, mincing vocals and noise with super rapid delay bombs. And the Gnarly Sheen track has a dark pull that is hard to resist; a slow burner which gradually transforms into a 3-note mantra du creep. An all together solid and brotherly split that does well to depict the two possible faces of terror that noise vacationers typically encounter in unfamiliar lands: 1. the torturous spazzing that happens right before you are deleted by a ruthless force, and 2. the aftermath that is infinite red hell as you drift down the river Styx on a ooze covered jet ski. And FYI: the cop had the wrong address. I wonder what happened over at the Lesleys? 6/10 FOSSILS "Airport Journals" C30 from The Wire Magazine, issue 294 A trio from Ontario, Canada, Fossils do a squeedly free noise thing that often sounds like three big guys pushing fully loaded file cabinets around linoleum floors while listening to "XM" from Paul Kanter's Blows Against The Empire LP. There's a skreek quality that won't be denied, even as it's gobbled by various other gremlins of pure murk. Jolly! LEAVENWORTH "Retention, Reunion" C20 from Cassette Gods There's a small mock Bavarian village in eastern Washington State called Leavenworth. The sort of place where old men can play accordions in comfort and you get extra whipped cream on that plate of kielbasa, whether you asked for it or not. I doubt that fine town has anything to do with this project. This Leavenworth, who has apparently been operating on some severe down-low for a few years, specializes in loud, squelchy line noise interruptions somewhat in the tradition of Withdrawal Method or certain Hermit releases. Decent headache-inducing frequencies, but nothing out of the ordinary. The recording is credited to Jiz Tapia, but other than that no clues as to who or what is on here. Color photocopied inserts. SAM GOLDBERG "Cycles" C20 from The Ear-Conditioned Nightmare With a few releases out on mostly Emeralds related labels/releases, Sam Goldberg has already entrenched himself as a reliable source for the kind of squelchy, warm drone works that get me giddy. Cycles is no different, and it's on the always well done 905 Tapes, so this cassette is an especially good situation for all. The tape opens with stun gun sputterings over hallucinogenic, new age style synth movements, babbling along with smears of warm waves emitted from some giant flower cannon. This is some thermal stuff, drifting along cloudless like some pollen postal worker. Soon though, the clouds start moving in, vast vents of reverberating heaviness that go nowhere in their monolithic discourse. Everything is blubbering along in some column of heated currents, a wasteland of zoned out synthesizer painting. Goldberg's approach is as much about the warmth and richness of his textures as it is about his silences though. As each wave of jet engine flop comes, it also goes, diminishing to nothing before it returns or a new sound presents itself. It is here that tension is maintained, though one is also perfectly capable of letting the silences in to fill their own voids here. After the whole blubbering gust thing is finished, a mini-keyboard piece gives way to more looped drone garbling as shores are carved out. Each pulsing tone is doing so at such a rapid pace that it's practically a sheet, only with holes in it (like those shoes that let your feet breathe) so those sweet currents can get inside. Side two opens sounding like some long lost Mario soundtrack. Like Mario in Crystal Palace or something. Each gesture enters and dissolves, somehow forming a nice little melody of fumbling numbness, eventually being overcome by a darker drone that too subsides in favor of more careening echoes of organic underwater dolphin cries. Not to push the Mario metaphor, but you know the sound he makes when you get one of those power-up mushrooms? It's like a bunch of those slowed way down and layered over one another--surprisingly effective actually. Soon it changes again though, evolving into tinkling high pitched screes over more video game dream sequences. Beautiful lullabies with organ notes that dissolve as quickly as they appear. A thick drone comes back to initiate the final minutes of the C20, sitting on itself in preparation for the vast infinite ahead before disappearing into more pointillist mutterings. When the piece ends, it could be the melodic framework for some techno meltdown, only its so beatless and undanceable that you have no choice but to be drifted off by the tiny suggestions of melody presented. Each fragment suggests a far greater whole, creating an odd paradox of rich minimalism. Killer tape, just lie down and let your brain do the walking. Still available from Tomentosa I believe, and each tape has a different cover cut from some piece of film. Nice. TUSCO TERROR + WETHER "Giver" Split C20 from Foxy Digitals This first release on cassette label 905 Tapes sees both Tusco Terror and Wether filling their side of the C20 with subgenre experimental noise. Maybe it was the label blurb’s mention of snow that suggested the idea of colourless snowy wastelands, because Tusco Terror’s “Pill Cake” definitely has that white-out fuzzed-out blizzard sound going on. Reminiscent of driving blind on a tyreless car’s cracked rims across Fargo country, for the most part “Pill Cake” is the sound of obscured eyes and electric grind. While the noise is generated by something that’s undoubtedly broke, there are glowing cold shimmers peeking through a wavering buzz. The chosen climax of vocal shock sounds through a crap mic has an insane vibe, but feels tacked on to such a glutinous and ratchety beginning. Wether’s side, a single piece entitled “Sleeping Place”, comes on like a muscled-up Aaron Dilloway cut – levels of crusty germs piling on top of each other till they morph. Eternally spun marbles build layers at a punk pace spin, the seedlings of ideas taking brief prominence before dipping out. Thankfully Wether never loses his balance or slips into untrusting noise, it might never get especially harsh but it’s still got a good, craggy roughness to it. 7/10 WETHER "Post-Cave Music" C24 from Cassette Gods It's appropriate to admit that, out of a large batch of new releases on any label, the most impressive effort would come from the guy that has to dub them all. "Post-Cave Music" won't disappoint Wether fans as a whole, but the hands-down winner is the 8-and-a-half minute "Blanket Fog," a well paced and gut-churning closer which veers between bass plunges and shuddering textures of feedback and static-swallowing distortion. For a label which was only started this year, Mike Haley has already assembled an immense catalogue which anyone wishing to sample a wide array of up-and-coming noise artists would be well advised to check out. from Foxy Digitalis "Tape Hiss #33" Several hours spent immersed in aquatic drone left me feeling a mite prune-y, so I was craving something leaner and meaner for this last review. The name Wether rung a bell from prior releases on No Horseshit and Peasant Magik, and—piecing together the deeply suppressed memories that lingered from those tapes—I had an inkling this offering might divert me from the numbing beauty of the two tapes above. It takes all my powers of understatement to call this a change of pace. Wether battered my ears, deploying the standard no-fi noise tricks but channeling them into immersive looped structures that held my mind in rapt captivity. The first side is rhythmic fusillade of gruesome, almost Mammalian beats, paired with violent high-end snaking from the Merzbow/Astro axis. In contrast to other beatnoise death marches, Wether evolves his patterns with sloppy exactness, as if his equipment were breaking and coming back online at regular intervals. Eventually the entire mess putrefies into a brief squall of shout-spiked power electronic, but it thankfully locks back into its hypnotic writhing quickly enough. The shorter and even more savage B-side dispenses with the structural niceties and delivers undistilled, overblown sludge. Heaving loops surface from the feedback plumes, but they disorient rather than anchor, and the whole piece affects the ears like a kick to the temple. A ponderous silenceabruptly cleaves the side—either to separate pieces or re-sensitive the pain threshold—before Wether unveils a throbbing sheet of rust to send us off to our nightly nightmares. I’ve been damn grumpy about noise lately and this passes my smell test, so true heads will probably piss their jeans.