Field Rituals
Koen Holtkamp
Type Records

This is the debut album from Holtkamp, who has gotten well-known as one-half of the ambient duo Mountains. Holtkamp utilizes twinkly field recordings (children playing), warped-phased-finger-picked guitar playin’, and the (usual) panned waves and squiggles. It is the sort of cultivated rustic fuzziness for non-dancing ambient fans. The album will endure comparisons to Boards of Canada and being described as “warm” and “organic-like.”

Field Rituals deserves better. I am not a huge ambient guy. I dig one of these albums about every three years: Boards of Canada, Mum, Piano Magic, Hood . You want a band that will match the coming cold front–you could do no better than Hood. You want a record that will blend well with your daily walk or green-line ride? This is it.

I road tested Field Rituals a few weeks ago. The album blended so well with my shuddering Metro ride, the squeaking brakes, the idle chatter of bored commuters. I wanna say it enhanced by boring slog to Chinatown. The album insists you listen hard, that you take it seriously; it’s not dinner music.

But Field Rituals songs aren’t endurance tests, requiring the listener to figure out each pixel, each shivering note. You’ll try just the same. Be patient. The songs work like time-lapsed photography. Except they grow without building, without ramping up the tension (like guitar squall, bigger and bigger beats). or even conventional resolution. They’re like a series of moments, unfolding and folding, unfolding and folding. So yeah, be patient.

By Todd Lavoie

Bowler hats, banjos, backwoods hollers, and burlesque hawkers - sounds like old-timey goodness to me. San Diego's mountain music-loving vaudeville-revivalists the Silent Comedy will be dishing out sepia-toned balladry and carny-shouted hootenannies to the Café du Nord crowd Friday, Nov. 21.

It should be one hell of a rompin'-stompin', suspender-slappin' shindig. Whether or not the band will share their homebrewed bathtub-gin onstage remains to be seen, but they're certain to be generous with everything else you might need for a round or two of Prohibition-era revelry. OK, the bathtub-gin thing is pure speculation on my part; what else could possibly be fueling their deliciously unbridled rip-ups?

The quintet, formed in 2005 by brothers J. John and J. Benjamin from the remnants of their San Diego post-punk band Dehra Dun, is rooted in acoustic-based roots music - banjo, mandolin, and violin figure prominently - but indie rock has clearly played a significant role in shaping how they approach country and folk idioms.

Electric guitars and keyboards find their way into the Silent Comedy game plan as well, and the guys seem just as comfortable in rock-out mode as they are in evoking images of decades gone by. Their sound has also been largely informed by the brothers' discovery that their great-grandparents were vaudeville performers; much of their work swaggers with a boozy carnival-shout recalling (inevitably) moments of Tom Waits, or perhaps more accurately, Man Man or later-period Modest Mouse.

Onstage, bowler hats and suspenders, antique button-shirts and tailored slacks - and when is the last time you've seen the word "slacks" in print, honestly? Titillated? You should be! - tend to be part of the deal, as is an old-time-religion/snake-oil salesmen level of theatricality. If the original Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus took a trek up to Walton's Mountain - armed with a thorough knowledge of Nineties and Oughties indie history - the resulting after-hours barn dance would perhaps sound much like the Silent Comedy.

The year's self-titled EP (Singleton) presents ample sweat-streaked testimony to such assertions; it also offers convincing evidence of the band's versatility. Opening track "Daisy," for example, is a graceful, swelling ballad - somewhere between American Music Club and Damien Jurado in feel - boasting a potent pairing of loping piano chords, courtesy of J. Benjamin, and tear-stained banjo from J. Michael. On top of it all, I. Forbes' violin tugs and sighs in equal measures - a glorious backdrop, then, for J. John's yearning vocals. The chorus - "shake, shake, Daisy, add some salt, add some salt and shake me up" - feels simultaneously like a come-on, a taunt, and a cry of resignation.

A serious gear-shift arrives with the follow-up, however: "'49" is a growling charge of deranged vaudeville, in which John's switch-over to carnival-barker persona is joined by thumping, clattering rhythms - pummeled by J. Benedict - and debauched barroom piano. "You're breaking my patience down," John roars over an angry tumble of colliding, fisticuff-seeking instruments. It's a dark, furious piece, akin to some of Tom Waits' 1992 brawling masterwork Bone Machine (Island).

The Benjamin-sung "Gasoline" is a thrilling build-up of tension rewarded by glorious release, starting off with hushed vocals delivered over circular acoustic guitar patterns - echoes of onetime Jayhawk Gary Louris came to mind - before giving way to sparkling piano, a propulsive brushed-drum rhythm, and slow-gushing violin flourishes. Gradually, steadily, the song gets carried off into a blazing, us-against-the-world rush of passion a la the Arcade Fire, and when the band lets loose in full-throated shouts of "I am all right… I'm doing just fine!," there's a genuine sense of catharsis.

"Beware," with its bleary-eyed trombone slides and eerie toy piano, herald the Silent Comedy's return to the dark side, particularly in its grim warnings of "Hey little darlin', you'd better beware / if you find yourself peekin' in your lover's hair."

The EP ends on a high note: the galloping, Balkan-flavored "Carnival" starts innocently enough with a slow lull of twinkling keys and clip-clop percussion before riding off into a thundering trounce of triple-time rhythms and wailing violin. Benjamin practically revels in the dark undercurrent swirling underneath the song's drunken hysteria - and once the entire band kicks in with their leg-kicking, arm-linking unison whoops of "la la la," the waft of liquor is tough to miss.

Lest anyone get the mistaken impression that the carny life is all glamour and good times, however, how about a few closing thoughts from the Silent Comedy? "She will never let him back in his life / But at least she'll never end up on the end of his knife."

Here's a video for an earlier, less high-strung version of "Carnival," titled "Carnival Song":

THE SILENT COMEDY
With Joe Pug, the Harbours, and Or the Whale
Fri/21, 9:30 p.m., $12
Café du Nord
2170 Market, SF
(415) 861-5016

Bizarre doesn't even begin to describe this album. A blend of progressive punk and almost pastoral music with a mean violin, vocal stylings that baffle even the Peter Hammill initiated, quirky, though generally brilliant, lyrics... the list goes on, and the bizarre melding of standard musical elements and a freakishly experimental mindset works overtime. Really, there is no way to describe this album effectively, it'll probably take a while to catch on as a whole, and any preconceptions you have about Van Der Graaf Generator probably do not apply to this album. Consequently, it's a bizarrely essential album: I really enjoy it, I appreciate there are a lot of people (particularly the pretty vocals crowd) who probably won't get it (not a bad thing, just different tastes), and I think it was really pushing the barriers in a way that the other classic prog bands had rather given up on by 1977. Graham Smith and Nick Potter give the album a great deal of attack, Hammill's experiments with all sorts of vocal ideas have jumped off into the deep end in a way that you'll either love or hate, Guy Evans is solid as ever, and the pianos and guitars are used with a lot more confidence and detail than most previous Van Der Graaf Generator efforts. I think it's a masterpiece, sure some others take the opposite opinion. Lizard Play exhibits the rather Van Der Graaf Generatorish (well, in this case, Van Der Graafish) of having some sort of anti-catch value. On the first listen, it made virtually no impact on me, either lyrically or musically, but now, I can call it nothing less than amazing. The first Meurglys III notes lead us into a little, slightly jazzy intro a bit reminiscent of When She Comes, before Hammill's light-hearted, very cleverly harmonised vocals come in, using a full range of high wispy overdubs to counterbalance low, gritty multiple vocals. Evans is fantastic, of course, providing all sorts of rolls in addition to some absolutely beyond-belief unusual hollow and tingly percussion inclusions. Hammill's lyrics are metaphorical, assertive and extremely potent once you actually see the whole picture, and allow for a couple of clever spins which you somehow never quite expect even when you know they're coming up. Potter's thorough, thick basslines provide the real backbone for the piece, as well as a sort of bestial feel to the piece. The Graham Smith violin is characteristically unusual, and includes a couple of rather neat subtleties that provide a little more weight to the acoustic. A song full of weirdness, shamanic rhythms, a general refusal to accept the standard terms of what rock is, and a touch of whimsicality that works really well for Van Der Graaf.

The Habit Of The Broken heart is another somewhat eclectic song, moving from a fairly basic acoustic riff to a subtle bitter bit of reflection to a full on burst of rock to a small vocal coda. The lyrics are a touch less sharp than I'd expect from Hammill, though they still contain a couple of great lines, and a basic message, which is more than a lot of bands manage to do. The lyrical vulnerability of the song relative to the rest of the album is more than outweighed by the superb musical content and the rather odd mood in Hammill's vocal. Guy Evans and Nic Potter provide a weird bass-driven riff for a fair amount of the piece. The dashes of organ fit in quite nicely, as does the lush background viola. A lot of the punk ethos thumping in again, along with a few elements of dissonance and the rather curtailed melodies than characterise much of World Record. The conclusion is nicely done. Not an absolutely perfect piece, but a lot of redeeming features, and a particularly top notch performance from Evans.

Siren Song features the album's finest lyrics, and some of the finest lyrics in rock, and the closest thing to a conventionally pretty vocal on there. The piano is absolutely lovely, and supplemented by a tragic violin, Guy Evans' very emotional and delicate percussion and the unusual Potter distorted bass sound. The mood changes of the song are distinctive, involving and feature a rather more upbeat, folk-inspired violin part, as well as an example of just how mobile Van Der Graaf Generator can make a song. Nic Potter never did a weirder bass part than that in the middle of this song, and it pays off fantastically. Anyway, the best way to describe this one is with a bit of a lyrics quote. It has reduced me to tears on occasion, and not many pieces can do that.

Laughter in the backbone laughter impossibly wise that same laughter that comes every time I flash on that look in your eyes which whispers of a black zone which'll mock all my credos as lies, where all logic is done and time will smash every theory I devise

The six minute Last Frame could well be the highlight of the album for a lot of the more prog-by-the-books listeners. A hollow atmospheric introductory solo on viola (I think) from Graham Smith leads us into the song proper, coupled with a couple of very dark, full jabs on bass and a tinkle of percussion, takes us onto the tragic retrospective vocals, coupled with a savagely bleak and determined set of lyrics. Hammill provides an acoustic (on occasion surprisingly unusual in sound) pretty much throughout the main part of the song, which is quite a nice change, and it fits in neatly both at the higher-tempo sections and the more introspective low-key parts. A sort of freakish guitar or violin solo backed up by a dab of Meurglys III riff takes up prime position in the instrumental mid-part. The song's conclusion is particularly awesome, with a distinctly rocking bass riff mixing itself in with dabs of percussion, classy lyrical bite and a distorted guitar. As always, Evans is a solid drummer, controlling his sound, volume and feel quite precisely and adding a slightly human feel through the drumming. Fantastic stuff.

The Wave is probably the most daringly introspective of the songs on this album, with quirky, and yet quite moving lyrics about the point of analysis and the effect of that on nature or feeling. The lush, but quite delicate, interplay between Hammill's piano and mellotron (it's probably actually a viola, listening to it a bit more closely) and the strings is extremely well-written, and Hammill's vocals are simply amazing in a way that only they can be. The tension is available, and a mixture of grandeur, uncertainty, high and low and whispered vocals, and selective self-harmonies adding a sort of ebbing feel to the piece. The rhythm section is again excellent, with Guy Evans' fitting in his own sort of style quite softly, accomplishing a number of subtle cadences that other drummers often seem nervous to add into soft songs, accomplishing the same sort of rolling line with no intrusion at all. It did take a while to catch onto me, as one would sort of expect a soft song like this to simply head for plain lyrics, but in the end the combination seems simply more and more right. Unusual soft songs are one of my favourite features of the classic 70s prog rock bands, and this fits that description perfectly. Masterful.

If one track can be described as driven, it's probably Cat's Eye/Yellow Fever, this piece rivets itself into the mind, frantically and schizophrenically leaping off its own ideas. Hammill's lyrics and vocals have a wonderfully reeled-off-on-the-spot tint, albeit not a lot of conventional beauty to counterbalance that. The jarring aggression of the vocals is in the vein of Nadir's Big Chance rather than Arrow or La Rossa, relying on an innate menace, speed and rhythm over volume or arrangement, and yet they are actually surprisingly fitting for the song, ramming in uncertainty, panic, menace and rage without pausing for breath... a burst of vocal dubs only heightens the frantic mood. The exhausted final vocal line is a complete contrast to this schizoid personality... one of the best worst vocal performances ever. Graham Smith's violin and viola provides truly berserk emotionality, reeling off a pulsing, tense riff as well as an array of off-the-wall solos, counterbalanced by the utter catharsis of the concluding solo. Nic Potter has never sounded better, with pulsating, demanding, insistent bass-lines complete with mixed-in sort of bass groans, as well as a bass-sound or two I haven't heard used in that way before. Even under that incredible violin solo at the end, he fits in a tasteful, obvious bass sound. The guitar is equally superb, providing a sort of picked-electric sound that lends a lot of character to the piece, as well as some blitz-on-the-ear wails. One of the big standouts of this piece, though, is Guy Evans. His combination of sort of trapping drum sounds, solid, aggressive beats, tasteful leaves, hard, flat rock beats and manically fast, yet comprehensible, fills, which sort of overspill all the parameters of the song, providing a sensation of real vertigo and being off the edge.

Anyway, I've gone into a bit more detail than I usually do on shortish songs for this one, but it was entirely worth it. An incredible song, one that really both pushes the parameters of rock and yet builds on existing traditions. As Peter Hammill would say, the 'exciting stuff'. It's a sample at the moment, so take a listen to it on the appropriate volume. If you don't like it, the album might not be for you (there's a wide range of material covered, and the lyrics, here, are probably not as strong as the rest of the album), but if you do, really, the album might be your thing. It's the song that brought me to going beyond the obligatory four VDGG albums.

The Sphinx In The Face is another oddity, complete with a particularly anarchically arranged set of lyrics, a range of rather clever musical quotes from previous pieces incorporated into the main piece. Opening with a cheerful guitar riff, backed up by the appropriate groove from the bass. A couple of rather reggae-ish moments are juxtaposed with a general pushing-rock-feel, amazing mellotron/viola, as well as possibly the most remarkably moving harmony in rock. The musicianship, as always, is incredible, and though the 'concept' of it all... the unifying theme of disunity, of a search... is a bit hard to grasp at first, once it kicks in, it sinks below the surface, and a range of exclamations that first seem trivial become extremely moving. Also brilliant, though I can imagine that the harmony ending won't hit anyone until you've really wrapped yourself in the album.

Chemical World is another piece of particularly good writing disguised by a bit of general chaos, noise, and lyrics which alternate between whimsical and acidic. Aside from a surprisingly Spanish guitar melody from Hammill, the song's softer moments are highlighted by Graham Smith's fascinating sax/flute-'imitation's on violin. The noisy, distorted-out-of-this-world mid-section is probably the high point of the piece, with an explosive Evans and a number of tense melodies and more 'psychedelic' ideas, which perhaps resemble that rather haunting section of Nine Feet Underground a little. Nic Potter's bass is very effective, again, handling a couple of lead guitarish licks on one occasion. Amazing stuff, and extremely progressive.

The Sphinx Returns concludes the album proper, with a rocked up version of the outro to The Sphinx In The Face, somewhat sealing up all the themes of the album in one range of bizarre musicianship and a fade to indicate that they continue.

Onto the bonus material. The Door is another great piece, with a killer riff. Rocking everywhere, a high-range thumping bass and a couple of hilarious keyboard effects. The demo version of The Wave is actually very moving and effective even without the lyrics, and it places a little more emphasis back on the individual music parts. Potter is probably a bit more effective (think it's that he's a lot more conspicuous with a quieter piano) on this one. Anyway, it illustrates that Van Der Graaf really could do instrumental extremely effectively... almost as incredible unpolished as it is finished. Ship Of Fools truly kicks, with a hammering riff, neat lyrics, and a sort of electric fire that reminds me a bit of a couple of the things 80s Crimson and Tull would go on to do. The vocals are truly off the wall, or off the charts, depending on how you see it, and Hammill gives a great guitar burst or two. I'd probably call it hard rock, more so than any of the Deep Purple and Uriah Heep stuff I've heard.

So, all in all, a collection including pretty much exclusively absolutely fantastic songs (The Habit Of The Broken Heart is a tiny bit weaker, but not much so), which I would consider among Van Der Graaf (Generator)'s list of finest achievements, and that really does mean a lot, coming from me. The album is characterised by subtlety disguised as blatancy, which is a pretty standard VDGG feature, so if you don't get H to He or Godbluff or something like that, you probably won't get this. The lyrics are typically . Nonetheless, vital for fans of Van Der Graaf Generator, aggressive progressive music, later, but still very progressive albums, or quirky, obtuse concepts. A masterpiece of progressive rock, and (and I say this even with Starless And Bible Black, and Brain Salad Surgery close in mind) Guy Evans' performance on this is perhaps my favourite percussion on one album ever.

Rating: Five Stars... seems a bit standard fare for VDGG and my ratings, but that's alright... Favourite Track: Very, very difficult choice. Cat's Eye/Yellow Fever or The Siren Song if I had to pick.

(oh, a couple of considerations)... I'm sure some of the times I reference saxalike/flutealike violins it is actually Jaxon, but I think at others they are, in fact, actually violin sounds that correspond to how I'd expect some of the saxes on World Record to sound. I'm not great on violas, so my exact terminology for string instruments may be horrifically wrong. Finally, the cover art, it's amazing, don't you think?

by TGM: Orb


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The main complaint every non-diehard-fan has about this album is against those stunningly long segments of ambient noise found on many of the songs, which make a sizeable contribution to the track lengths in every song except L'Via. It's important to notice that, since their use is intentional, they are music as well (not noise), so overlooking them would be missing the point. I found them boring at first, mostly because of the amazing intensity of every song here (which accelerates you), but then I realized what they meant and how they integrated and contributed to the overall flow of the album, and I really enjoyed them. The only one I still struggle a bit with is that strange distorted-organ coming after The Widow, which is indeed a bit too shocking. But the one coming before that sounds great, and L'Via and Miranda flow so well with those parts that I was amazed to open my mind by enjoying them.

As for the album itself, I found that what makes TMV so unique is upfront: Blasting, furious intensity all over it. Not only in those guitar seizures or the violent moments, but also there's a feral intensity in the quieter parts, a sense of tension that I felt a bit stiff on Amputechture and not quite so accomplished on The Bedlam In Goliath, since in that album everything is just very loud. There's a great control of intensity here. Cygnus... Vismund Cygnus is a great example: Can you really calm down when that solo comes? The answer: Yes, but only for the following 30 seconds... There's tension everywhere, all over it, and it shows itself gently, very well displayed. That's this album's main virtue. When both the explosions and the chill-outs are so excellently managed, it's a treat to hear.

Another great thing about it is how Omar manages to tie most of his influences into his own style, creating original sounds. There's a lot to appreciate here, from Crimsonian solos popping up every now and then up to what sounds like a crazed P-funk in Cygnus' manic delivery, and that's only the tip of the iceberg. It's pure prog-sound attitude, totallly devoid of committing to anything but its own rules. Cramming many things into one song it's even easy, but making a great song MIXING things is quite an accomplishment.

As for the song themselves, they succeed at being both part of a whole and unique entities at the same time. Each track is a world by itself: Cygnus makes up for the perfect introduction, 9 relentless minutes of fury exploding at full tilt on Cedric's final screams; there are dramatic crescendos, both in a short version (The Widow) and in a full-on, bombastic, fierce chill-out (Miranda), and L'Via, which refuses any easy description (it would be something like a freakout progged-up metal-salsa night). It's so well done that you tend to sing (or scream?) along without caring exactly about its meaning.

As for that, I find the lyrics quite hard to decipher but also quite intriguing. There's a nice lyrical work here, very mysterious and thought-inducing metaphores, something quite lacking for me on most of the other albums. But of course what really makes those lyrics lift off is what are undoubtely Cedric's most amazing performances, peaking specially on Miranda, which scares and amazes the hell out of me at every single listen. It's a wonder to hear, absolutely stunning at every single verse. He even manage to succeed greatly in blowing my mind off on L'Via, despite the fact that I can detect the slightly sloppy accent on his Spanish easily since I'm from Argentina. Clean, powerful, intense (how many times I've used that word already?) with the right performance nuances, and a cool effect every now and then (like Spider-Cedric at the beginning of Cassandra Geminni). A great development from De-Loused, and Cedric never sang like this later, or the many effects of the following albums didn't let him.

Cassandra... deserves a part of its own. A 32-minute monster which is (and at the same time isn't) an album by itself, which starts originally by avoiding a long intro and blowing your ears right from the first second. From then Omar goes on a rampage with his guitar, while Cedric sings the hell out of his lungs (AND ITS MULTIPLE SONS WITH THEIR MANDIBLE TONGUES SET CRUCIFIED FIRES TO PETRIFIED HOMES... amazing!!!) like for 18 minutes... A few minutes of a mysterious, chilled-out interlude and the re-emergence of the whole thing in full force, with sax? flute? whatever it is before crashing in one last chorus. As a nice extra and to bring a fitting closure, Sarcophagi gets a reprise at a higher volume than the version found at the beginning of the album. As an amazing thing: Most of the song's many riffs are built around one single note, E. Check it out by yourselves and you'll hear it.

In short, this album develops things that were in primary stages on De-Loused At The Comatorium, and it's a final point in a way for TMV, since from Amputechture on things take another direction (I really like Amputechure and Bedlam, though, they explore many things that this album doesn't). However, neither Omar composed anything so flawlessly intense, nor Cedric sang as well and hypnotically attractive (with the tremendous exception of the amazing Asilos Magdalena) like what they display here. A masterpiece.

by santiagoprog


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“No format” is not only the title of the impressive album of TkY, it is also the opener of this EP. The special dynamics and the flowing sound of the tracks builds a tension that convince the listener until to the last stroke.

Tracklist

01 No Format 8.6 MB
02 In My Cupboard 10 MB
03 Delicious Love 11 MB

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an interesting record...

Yeah, the '80. In this Ultimate hard times for progressive rock King Crimson came with two records, Beat and Three of a pefect pare. The band was called King Crimson because of the music industry that wouldn't allow Robert Fripp to call the band Discipline. They wouldn't have got a recordcompany deal. This record has nothing to do with the '70 King Crimson however. I would discribe it as experimental Wave music. The first thing I thought when I listened to it was: WHOW this is very bad '80 mainstream rock!

When you accept the fact that this is totally different you can begin to even like this offering. Three of a perfect pair is a nice song with a lot tension building a loats of strang guitar slides. It is progressive in how tones are played, not in song structure. This counts for the record as an hole. It sometimes has s pop feel when the instruments are still played in a very progressive way.

Model Man is a song I like for it's lyrics and it's themes that can't get out of my head. It just realy works. Sleepless is an 100% '80 wave recording. I a way realy bad, in a way very interesting. For it's still mister Frip influencing this whole project. The keyboard sound like a very poppish '80 rock production though.

Man with an open hard is a bad popsong. Nothing to offer for progressive rock adicts. Nuages and Industry are instrumental moviesoundrack like compositions. They realy sound very industrial. It's like an '80 version of side two of In the Wake of Poseiden. Interpreted like this it is very interesting.

Dig me is hardcore strange. A totally psyched up guitar part and a pop chorus. Not realy my kind of thing, but again, a very interesting view on music possibilities. After this the record keeps getting weirder. Some nice experimentation finishes the record.

What to rate now?

It ain't poor, it is defenitly not for fans (they will not like it as they see it as an real King Crimson record), it's good but not essential. So... three stars with the comment: interesting....

by kingfriso


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• GEMM, Vinyl Records & CDs Rare Albums (Out of Print and Imports)
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• eBay, used or new | bid or buy now