field report no.060717

LOCATION: Thomas Wolfe Auditorium AVL.NC
SUBJECT: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Over the years, and especially since the early 90s, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds have honed their skills, evolving into a captivating band for large venues without giving up a very real sense of intimacy. They are playing their music, yes, but they are performing as well. 

That they've endured long enough to grow into this role is stunning. Their origins, stretching back to the Birthday Party, are by no means populist, let alone stadium material. Cave has passed through years of self-inflicted obscurity and even more self-abuse (in the form of drugs). By persevering without compromise, they've now arrived on the other side with with critical acclaim, but also a large and loyal fan base, and a deep well of songs—no small number of which are just awaiting acknowledgement as classics in the canon. 

Their extended set was heavy on their recent albums: the harrowing Skeleton Tree and the acclaimed Push the Sky Away. They still had plenty of time to touch on crowd favorites from their back catalogue (they had just released a Greatest Hits collection, after all). For the first time, I realized one of his most enduring tracks, the elegiac Into My Arms, was in essence, the best Leonard Cohen song Nick Cave has ever written. It's poetics are unexpected while still managing a sincere and heartfelt sentiment. It's a song sure to be covered often in the future.

As a title, I Need You might seem as plaintive as Into My Arms, but that's a feint. Each verse dwells in a strange key, always feeling out of tune. For a fleeting chorus, the group will rise into beauteous reprieve, only to fall back again. His words revolve in cyclical, maddening mantras. I Need You is pure, confused desperation distilled to song form. Cave's powerful delivery and presence make it impossible to imagine any cover version. I Need You was a singular highlight of the night, even though it's a song I had somewhat passed over when listening to Skeleton Tree.

I've been lucky to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds a few times now. Each has vastly improved upon the last—no mean feat for an artist who's career itself is now middle-aged. While it seemed odd the only show in the Southeastern US on this tour was in Asheville, since I'm both a resident and a fan, I won't challenge such fates. And while I'd love to see the band dig into their back catalogue for dusty gems instead of fan favorites, I'll always be grateful for whatever Saint Nick sees fit to grant us.

NOTES: All Cave

Kerrier District / Benefist / Stop the Panic / Back on Time

Kerrier District, 2004 / Ace of Clubs, 2007 /
Luke Vibert & BJ Cole 1999 / Plug, (released) 2011

You've got to be a tenacious collector to keep up with Luke Vibert. He cuts at least two records a year, under any number of names. Vibert's savvy enough, all these projects are kept stylistically distinct from each other. In this way I've ended up with 4 records by him without violating my rule of 1-record-per-artist.

With Kerrier District, Vibert digs deep into sweaty disco (along with a with a healthy dose of deep bass). Ace of Clubs is a superlative techno-house stomper. Lap steel player BJ Cole joins Luke to go on a downtempo, easy-listening-inflected excursion. Plug was short-lived haven for Vibert's drum-n-bass excursions (before he went further down the break-wormhole as Amen Andrews). All this and I don't (yet) have an album by his most recognizable nom-de-plume: Wagon Christ.

Luke Vibert is no simple beat tourist, trying on different hats. He's a skilled craftsman who innately understands what differentiates one genre from another, and can evoke any given style without leaning on its most obvious tropes. A talent that lets these four albums sound unique, while each is unmistakably the work of one mind.

While Kerrier District and Benefist are more oriented to your feet, the shocker is Back on Time, which ends up almost as laconic as Stop the Panic. Supposedly, the Plug album was recorded back in the mid-90s and sat unreleased for almost 15 years. All the elements Vibert grafts atop his jittery drum-n-bass framework have a swing that feels downright breezy. It makes an interesting companion-piece to the the exotica-tinged album with BJ Cole.

field report no.050417

LOCATION: Isis Music Hall AVL.NC
SUBJECT: Adrian Belew Power Trio

King Crimson grew on me slowly. They only took root when I heard ThrakAttack, an album of improvisational interludes from their 1995 Japanese tour, all stitched together into an instrumental monstrosity. Even though I've come around to their greater oeuvre, Crimson remains the greatest as a demonstration of instrumental prowess and power. Likewise with Adrian Belew, who was a guitarist and the voice of King Crimson for decades (in their on-again-off-again way). By far my favorite of his solo records is e, by the Adrian Belew Power Trio, an album of insanely complicated rock instrumentals.

While I've never managed to see King Crimson live—and actually just missing them on an upcoming trip to NYC—the Adrian's Power Trio had to stand in. They're more than a reasonable facsimile, as a good third of the material they played was, in fact, Crimson songs (along with a sampling from throughout Belew's illustrious career). The band are consummate musicians. All three made the gnarled material they tore through look too easy. Belew, especially, likes to goof around: mugging for the audience as he shows off, ultimately coming across like so many dad jokes. But this is a man who has worked with David Bowie, Talking Heads, Frank Zappa and Paul Simon (to name only a handful), he's allowed a bit of grandstanding or levity, if he pleases. He's got naught to prove.

NOTES: Adrian Belew Power Trio (featuirng Julie Slick, Tobias Ralph); Saul Zonana

Uzelli Psychedelic Anadolu

Various Artists, collected 2017

Uzelli Psychedelic Andolu is a collection of vintage psychedelic rock from Turkey, released in on a German label—popular there in the Turkish Ex-pat community. These sorts of compilations have begun to greatly proliferate, and it raises some concerning questions. Are we, as 'Westerners', merely gawking at the exoticism of it? Are the artists even aware of these compilations, are they getting compensated for their popularity?

I've made some peace with the question of exoticism. For one thing, it's wrong to come to a compilation of music from another culture and expect to sound a particular way. So hearing Turkish culture of the 70s and early 80s respond to rock and pop is recognizing that their culture is not trapped in amber. It had it's own modernity. For another it's interesting to hear a part of our own culture, psychedelic rock, reflected back to us in ways that make it new again. If the pathways taken by the Beatles and Stones seem more like heavily trafficked tollways now, these compilations offer directions that are new to us.

Psychedelic music from the US and Western Europe has always courted it's own, sometimes ugly exoticism. Tibetan bells and sitars are shortcuts to imply a meditative state or Kama Sutra sultriness. On Uzelli Psychedelic Anadolu, it's the rock music that's appropriated. The element that strikes me most is always the singing. Turks absorbing rock-n-roll have to make it work with their language and experience. Lines don't flow in easy couplets and the rhythms of the words cut across or arc over music. The modes are entirely rearranged, as other cultures aren't always bound to the 12-tone scale or share our ideas about major and minor keys.

Whether the artists are fully compensated is a trickier question. That comes down, much more to factors of brand and trust. I've read some about the length labels like Luaka Bop and Analogue Africa to go to make sure they are above board. In this case, the original label, Uzelli, issued this, so at least one level of red tape is removed, but at some point you have to take it on faith.

Import Fruit

Georgia, 2016

Sub-genres in electronica tend to be less siloed than other types of music—a feature I've always found attractive. Dubstep may have been the it-thing at the turn the century, but almost every flavor of techno upped their bass game because of dubstep's advances. Footwork has been having its moment in the sun, and seemingly every style is paying closer attention to the detail and dynamics of their drum work.

A clutch of these adapters have opted for softer, tuned percussion—like marimbas and talking drums—over footwork's grime-styled concussive hits. This palette implies that artists like Georgia perhaps hail from some acid-jazz branch of the downtempo family tree, but the bewildering beats on Import Fruit are having none of that. Amongst rapid fire, 3-dimensional drum constructions, there are hints of Autchre's algorhythmic skullduggery, making any pattern impossible to discern. Despite all the amount happening at any given moment, each individual sound is crystal clear, with its own space carved into the mix. This is no music for your mindfulness practice.

field report no.043017

LOCATION: the Mothlight AVL.NC
SUBJECT: Mind Over Mirrors

The best transportive music can result in a feeling of lost time. It's not the boredom of staring out the train window—more like an out of body experience. You arrive at your destination wondering how you got there, where the middle went. Time flies when you're having fun, as they say

I've seen Mind Over Mirrors three now, and each time I've only a vague recollection of what transpired. Within minutes, their music cocooned me within it. Jaime Fennelly's project first made an impression on me with The Voice Rolling, a psychedelic album of solo harmonium (plus effects). He has slowly expanded the project into an ensemble, incorporating percussion and strings, but a swirling dream-state remains it's spiritual center.

Opener, Brokeback, has steadily grown as well. Starting as solo project for Tortoise bassist, Douglas McCombs, it's now full-blown band. They manage an expressionist sort of instrumental rock with minimalist means, leaning heavily on Ennio Morricone's western atmospherics. 

NOTES: Mind Over Mirrors (ensemble); Brokeback; Smelt Roe

Saccharine and Polish 4

A window into my world of pop. This is the music that makes me move my ass, raise my arms, dust off the old air guitar and sing along. When I crave sonic sweets, these are the confections I reach for. If you would like to subscribe to future episodes of this podcast, you can find sndlgc in itunes, or copy this link.

Many people's musical identities calcify around their coming of age. I've waged a lifelong campaign against this process, always adding new wrinkles to my listening. One thing I can't seem to shake, though, is my definition of 'pop'. If you were ask me to define what pop music sounds like, you'd get an answer that belies by my love of the new wave and synthpop of childhood anbd my teens immersed in punk and grunge.

Take any track on this mix: it may be a new band or song, but I can site a clear precedent in my collection dating from before I turned 18. Even the chaotic silliness of We'll Go Far by Half Japanese fits in. My early love of the Jazz Butcher—or later, They Might Be Giants—easily explains why Half Japanese are a part of my pop landscape.

While my core criteria for pop may not have categorically changed, my discretion has gained some nuance. I pay far closer attention to sound in-itself. I crave dynamics and sonic texture. I'm much more attuned to the vocal syncopation. If the lyrics, the syllables of the words, are too chained to the beat, too four-square, my interest wanes quickly. As they say, If don't got that swing…

Even if I can clearly identify where my pop proclivities originate, and the scope of my interests may have ranged far afield, I make no apologies. There's a welcome home in my world for this music that brings me all the joys and diversions pop can offer.

The Everlasting Yeah: A Little Bit of Uh Huh, a Whole Lot of Oh Yeah
Eagulls: Moulting
Paws: An Honest Romance
Savages: Sad Person
Priests: Pink White House
Jon Spencer Blues Explosion: She's on It
Half Japanese: We'll Go Far
John Wizards: Iyongwe
Lucky+Love: Mars
Stereo MC's: Bring It on
MIA: Attention
Teen: Rose 4U
Mercury: Wild Nights
Chester Endersby Gwazda: Skewed
The Notwist: Kong
Screaming Females: Ancient Civilization
Pins: Oh Lord
Ex Hex: Waterfall
The Primitives: Follow the Sun Down
Benjamin Gibbard: I Don't Know
Alvvays: Plimsoll Punks
Blank Realm: Palace of Love
Guided by Voices: Keep Me Down
Connections: Beat the Sky
Mac McCaughan: Whatever Light
Jane Weaver: The Electric Mountain
Ride: All I Want
St. Vincent: Regret
Wild Beasts: He, the Colossus
New Build: Mercy
Aloa Input: Vampire Song
Prinzhorn Dance School : Let Me Go

I Just Dropped by to Say Hello

Johnny Hartman, 1964

I purchased I Just Dropped by to Say Hello on a whim, at an antique mall in a small town on my way to the Charlotte Airport. Prior, I'd only ever heard Hartman's album with John Coltrane. Looking at the rogues gallery supporting Hartman on Dropped by made snatching it up a no-brainer: Elvin Jones from the Coltrane quartet on drums, legendary bop-era pianist Hank Jones and both Jim Hall and Kenny Burrell on guitar. 

Hartman's voice is an enviable instrument. He occupies a space between Frank Sinatra's punchy bombast and Cole Porter's velveteen tone. This living contradiction imbues overly familiar songs with an easy mystery. Hartman's veteran band has the good sense to never get in his way, making sure his inimitable voice is always centerstage. 

l'Appel du Vide

Jake Meginsky, 2014

If your aesthetic path has yet to stray near anything like musique concrète, then Jake Meginsky's l'Appel du Vide will probably confound you—it might not even seem much like music at all. This exploration of sound delights in the physical properties of your inner ear. It will be, to most, extreme. The frequencies are unnatural: from needling highs to subsonic lows. The rhythms are the patterns of insect hives. Your response to this record will likely be visceral: either it demands you end it or you cease all else and dwell in it fully. When I devote time to l'Appel du Vide, I'd swear I can feel my own brain working overtime, firing extra neurons, trying to parse what I'm hearing. It's a form of mindufulness, in its own disorienting sense. 

field report no.042417

LOCATION: the Mothlight AVL.NC
SUBJECT: Dave Rempis

Rock-n-Roll is a young man's game. Most pop stars over 50 are required to remind everyone why they matter whilst simultaneously not embarrassing themselves or tarnishing their legacy. Jazz, though, has a model more based on apprenticeship. Truly talented, unknown phenoms are rare beasts. Most up-and-comers are over 30, having spent a decade or more gigging as sideman with a wide variety of more established players.

For 12+ years, Dave Rempis was best known as a member of the Vandermark 5, which he joined in 1999. Since I was an avid follower of Ken Vandermark from my years in Chicago, I've been hearing Rempis' playing for well over a decade. He's been leading groups since the turn of the century but I took serious note of his extracurricular activities upon hearing Ballister, his trio with avant-cellist Fred Lonbgerg-Holm (fellow V5 alum) and the ubiquitous free jazz drummer, Paal Nilssen-Love (the Thing). From there it was off to the races—I've tried to keep up with his release schedule ever since. Rempis' duo with electrician Lasse Marhaug made my best-of-2014 list, and I've been keen to catch him live (again) for some time.

Where his old boss, Ken Vandermark, seems to have sworn off touring the US in favor of the more hospitable climes of Europe, Rempis has taken up the 'get-in-the-van-and-drive' mantle. I caught him this night, on a solo trek across the country. Rempis can be a fiery saxophonist—with a vocabulary full of loud honks and pinched squeals—but like many bombastic free players, he shows a more melodic side when playing solo.

Any sense of narrative within the tune, invention or change in dynamics and texture are all down to the individual, making a solo performance a rite of passage for even the most accomplished player. It's a test Dave Rempis passed easily. I mean, he's been training for this for years. I look forward to hearing the album these nights on the road were workshopping towards.

NOTES: Dave Rempis; Tashi Dorji

Light Sleep

Phew, 2017

I've been collecting Phew's discography for years now. Given how long her career has been, there are relatively few records, all of which are difficult to find and harder to afford. (A fact I find shocking in this era of reissue-mania.) Her discography starts in the late-70s with the archetypical post-punk band, Aunt Sally, then quickly veers off to a wide-ranging solo career—crossing paths with members of Can, Einstürzende Nuebauten, and Boredoms while joining forces with Bill Laswell and Otomo Yoshihide. Luckily, Light Sleep is a new release, by a US label, making it far easier for me to attain. (If only I could have been in NYC to catch her rare live appearance commemorating the occasion…)

On Light Sleep, she's completely solo, singing against her own abrasive, minimal electronics. I've not heard an album so thoroughly channel—or so fully appropriate—Suicide's early cage-rattling. The drum machines sound cheap but pulse with such martial relentlessness it never comes off as campy. Atonal blasts of compressed electricity worthy of Pan Sonic puncture the mix, while Phew's vocals are spoken with anxious urgency. The listening isn't easy but still essential.

Amazonia 6891

Pit Piccinelli / Fred Gales / Walter Maioli, 1986

While I don't have much (though, still some) use for unadulterated field recordings, I've found if those same sounds are manipulated or mixed with instrumental elements the end result is an irresistible siren call. I've trained myself to impose mandatory waiting periods on purchasing records like this (a precaution I both respect and resent).

Records like Amazonia 6891 occupy a space between environmental, documentarian recording and music that simply samples natural sounds. It has to do, with letting the events retain some of their original essence, spilling out of artificial rhythmic grids and occupying ambiguous keys. There's a point where the music is no longer using the field recordings so much as collaborating with them as an equal partner—or even subordinate.

Created as a collaborative project between three distinct disciplines, Amazonia 6891 moves in contrary directions. Fred Gales' raw recordings of the Brazilian Amazon are edited, collaged and manipulated. They're augmented with studio recordings the of 'natural objects' from Pit Piccinelli's collection. Lastly, discreet musical accompaniment is interwoven by Walter Maioli. Electronic sweeps sit as alien companions to already-exotic bird calls and insect drones. Nothing about these recordings is New Age or palliative. You are immersed but destabilized, leaving little corner for the easy understanding relaxation demands.

field report no.041917

LOCATION: the Mothlight AVL.NC
SUBJECT: New Rain Duets by Mac McCaughan & Mary Lattimore

Such a little thing can make such a difference…Billing this concert by Mac McCaughan and Mary Lattimore as 'an evening of semi-improvised music for harp and analog synthesizer' set all the wrong expectations. It might seem trifling to prefer a more accurate variation, like 'post-rock-tinged, ambient instrumentals', but the distinction matters. The tools to judge improvised music and ambient composition are vastly different. As the latter, it was a surprisingly successful set.

Mac McCaughan is indie-rock royalty: leader of Superchunk and Portastatic and co-founder of Merge Records—one of the most stalwart independent labels around. His latest release was a swell set of synth-driven, lower-case pop tunes. Here, he manned a handful of analogue synthesizers. I was not familiar with Mary Lattimore going into the evening, but she's featured on labels from small cassette outfits to the established electronica purveryor, Ghostly International. Their structures allowed some spontaneity—they managed to surprise each other a couple of times throughout the evening. While the format, perhaps, didn't play squarely into either artists' strengths, it's especially rewarding to see established artists willing to work outside their lane. 

NOTES: Mac McCaughan / Mary Lattimore duet; Oriana


Sam Rivers, 1976

Collecting music is at best, meandering. I was busy collecting everything I could associated with Circle, the advanced jazz quartet in the early 70s of Chick Corea, Dave Holland, Barry Altschul and the great Anthony Braxton. Circle was short-lived, essentially lasting only 1 year. Shortly, three-fourths of the group reconvened for Dave Holland's classic, Conference of the Birds—replacing Chick Corea with a second firebrand saxophonist, Sam Rivers. Thereafter, with Braxton too busy to come around, Rivers, Holland and Altschul cut a number of records together in througout 70s.

Which led to Sizzle, which contains that same trio at its core. By 1976, we are far afield from the calculus-complexity of Circle, and instead deep into free-wheeling skronk funk worthy of Ornette Coleman and Prime Time. Filling out the group is electric guitarist Ted Dunbar and vibist / second drummer Warren Smith. Even if everyone isn't soloing, no one is ever straight-comping. The busy bass lines are mixed up front to compete with the guitar. Sizzle swirls, a vortex of collective energy. 

field report no.041817

LOCATION: the Mothlight AVL.NC
SUBJECT: Acid Mothers Temple and the Melting Paraiso UFO

Any given show by Acid Mothers Temple is less a discreet performance and more a random sampling, an excerpt of an unending one. That's not to say each concert is identical. Those scorched guitar ecstasies may be cut from the same cloth, but it's like wading into a ever-shifting cascade of sound—the same river twice, and all that. Halfway through this particular night, the group began leaning hard into disco-vamp rhythms. When merged with their trademark heavy psych excesses, their throbbing groove of metallic rock scaled peaks the likes of Hawkwind were trying to climb in the early 80s.

NOTES: Acid Mothers Temple; Babylon

TM404 / Compuriddim

TM404, 2013 / Tilliander, 2017

The essence of techno is utilitarian. Go back to rave or early acid house tracks and you'll hear just what a blunt an instrument they were. What would happen if you slowed it all down to an ambient pulse? Could it survive, or would it be a tool without a function? It's a question I'm fascinated with enough, that low-BPM electronica seems to always catch my ear among any list of new releases, which is how I found Compuriddim, by [Andreas] Tilliander.

To my surprise, I had known his work before: he was among the Mille Plateaux era of Clicks and Cuts, but I'd lost touch with him since the early 2000s. This EP of slow motion dub workouts was enough to send me into a tailspin of playing catch-up—which is when I found the 2013 album he recorded as TM404. That self-titled album relied even more on the iconic, acid house pulsations of a TB303.

Both these works lean heavily on the signifiers of the very genres they're actively distending. Two decades of evolved production techniques are brought to bear to crack the utilitarian shell of each style, to reveal a wealth of nuance and subtlety underneath the veneer. He doesn't add extraneous frills or fills, instead each individual sound contains its own microcosm of textural activity. We're given ample time to admire each blossoming sonic in the pitched-down tempos of this un-dance music.

No Perfect Wave

C.Diab, 2016

Life is rife with small, personal zeitgeists. As I fall into fandom of some new artist, they begin to appear everywhere, in unexpected places. For example, Take C.Diab's No Perfect Wave: an excellent album of analogue drones that sound too earthy to be purely electronic—perhaps guitar… maybe organ? Only after purchasing it and dwelling with it a few days, did I find out it was recorded and mixed by one of my tastes-du-jour, Ian William Craig. Which makes sense: it's easy to hear Craig's deft hand at decaying audio on the hissing distortions of No Perfect Wave. All the sounds are clouded as if from a badly oxidized cassette. Even it was my excitement for Craig's production that brought me to No Perfect Wave, the patient construction and focused playing are it's truest traits.

field report no.033017

LOCATION: Mercury Lounge, NY.NY

The week started in uncharted territory but ended in a warm bath of pure nostalgia. While Jon Spencer has remained active, it isn't until the last few years that his projects have seem carry a shadow of his original spark. Since he's on a roll, it was high time to bring that lifeblood back home to his wife, Christina Martinez, and their band Boss Hog. The interplay between Martinez on lead vocals and Jon as bandleader and hype man is ruthlessly effective.

This night, at the intimate Mercury Lougne, was a release part for their first new album in 17 years, Brood X. While it might not touch their peaks of the early 90s, it's far stickier than their last, the fun-but-forgettable White Out. At this point, it's seeming like Boss Hog will go down in history as another electrifying stage act who who were never quite captured on tape, in full. Stage craft and presence go a long way in winning back that teenage feeling missing on the records.

Martinez is purposefully sultry and threatening at once as she sneers and swaggers across the stage in a slinky dress topped at the shoulders in clutch  of black feathers, less boa than mod-armor. Spencer knows to stay out of her way and keep the band in formation, barking responses on her command. It all rides atop the jagged propulsion of the rhythm section of Jens Jurgensen and longtime member Hollis Queens. 

Seeing the show actually gave me a much greater appreciation for the new album going back to it (more than once) the next day. If only I could have caught them on the White Out tour too.

NOTES: Boss Hog; Surfbort

Kompakt_ed 3

A long-simmering, highly distilled collection of electronica of all stripes: banging, trippy, trance-inducing… If you want to subscribe to future episodes and series of the sndlgc podcasts, you can search for 'sndlgc' in the itunes store, or copy this link.

Kompakt are titans of techno. The Köln collective are more than a record label—they're a store, a distributor, but most of all, tastemakers. For over a decade I've followed their lead, scouring weekly recommendations of new releases, looking for new tracks.

I especially like trolling their list of new 12-inches (particularly by bands I don't already know). I'll purchase maybe one song (digitally) for every 3 or 4 singles, then file it away in my library. Once I've collected about 30+ hours of these random tracks, I'll go through and pick about 2½ hours worth to represent the best of it. That will run through my usual editing process, whittling those tracks down to fit into an 80-minute mix. So by my count, this podcast is quadruple-distilled.

This particular episode represents over four years of collecting. In 80 minutes and 23 songs, it covers a lot of ground: funky to technical; four-to-the-floor bangers to trippy, fucked-up stumblers.

The entire mix is meant to play as a time-lapse of an entire night's worth of DJ sets. It builds to a rallying cry of cowbell-happy minimalism, digs deep into psychedelic sonics, takes a chill breather at the peak, then announces last call with a goofy digital-horn fanfare.

This mix represents the best electronic music I never knew before Kompakt Records clued me in. God bless Kompakt, and all who sail with them. Now turn it up and move.

Moebius / Neumeier: Jiro (Prins Thomas mix, part 2)
Freska: Mountain Ash
BNZO: Agbadza (Meerkat mix)
Luv Jam: Circle
Incyde: Sykle
Ryan Davis: Sideways (Morris Cowan mix)
ISO68: RunRunRun
Metaboman: Ergo Pure
Cupp Cave: Coke Owls
Maelstrom & Louisahhh: Hurry (Lurka mix)
Mia Dora: Un.Sub
Vitalic: Film Noir
Joakim: Would You Give Up?
Berk Offset: Gretchen und das Oszillophon
Dave Aju: RSHT
The Marx Trukker: Tape Be Good to You
DJ Tennis: Chirality (Plaid mix)
Fairmont: They Live in the Moon
Vai: Get Away from It All
Il Est Vilaine: Surf Rider
Dominik Eulberg: Unechte Wendeltreppe
Ada: Robotica
Peter Presto: Wiedersehnsucht

Dub Housing

Pere Ubu, 1978

Pere Ubu Dub Housing

Pere Ubu was a band I'd heard about (often in hushed tones) years before I would hear their music. Not many bands could survive the accumulated weight of such expectation but Pere Ubu still managed to surprise. It could be, in part, that their bracing style is so hard to put into words. Also, despite being so influential, they're damnably hard to imitate. So they remain a unique right of passage for all who follow.