The dance sound identifiable behind much of his work here explodes into an uplifting, cinematic house party — instead of a pulse underpinning depressed post-rock bardsmanship though this is a beach anthem, and much more uplifting than the title suggests.
The music obviously draws from a range of sources from disco, house, hip-hop and electro to punk or metal and the noisier, dirtier sounds of all of the above came out. The show was pacy and energetic, more so than the recordings, and added an overall heaviness and volume which magnified its effect.
Meatier, heavier, harsher and an all-round better offering than its predecessor (2002’s Repercussions of a Badly-Planned Suicide), In the library… shows off a bigger stylistic and technical range and draws on different traditions to create a diverse and compelling album.
Songs from all his collaborations and different handles are included and, interestingly, the different markers set throughout his career seem to sit well together on one long player.
One thing they’re not is more of the same disco beat. Many art-rock bands are all cool and slick, all narrow eyed grove; Awful Sparks have the shambolic energy of a boarding school dormitory ten minutes before lights out.
It’s albums like this that reveal Funk music’s a transcendent production of the human spirit. I literally haven’t stop dancing to this ‘ish’ since the LP dropped.
There are certain records that take you back to beautiful, hazy days of never-ending summer sunshine and joy, records that evoke that the best of times, carefree and footloose, the aural equivalent of a week on a beach with a bottle of gin and a beautiful woman.
If the dance hall in Carnival of Souls (Herk Harvey, 1962) contained Daffy Duck and friends and groups of children chuckling to themselves, then Fantomas would be seen on the stage.
The tone of this record is a decidedly more subdued one that his last release. If Rockin’ the Suburbs was the disc you played at the party Saturday night, then Songs for Silverman is the CD you pop in on the way to breakfast the next morning.
The way that they write such perfectly crafted highbrow pop songs seems almost calculated, appealing to such a massive number of people all at once
Although remaining true to her simplistic, stripped-down sound, the record shows greater subtlety in arrangement. Behind the raucous guitar there is often a slick bass line underpinning everything.
Seamless production sees consecutive tracks merge from Tool-esque math-riffing, to ugly, hardcore jungle, (sometimes with a readily discernible time signature, sometimes not) using crashing, squelching drum samples overlaid with Alec Empire white noise and electro-screeching.
He rhymes wrong with wrong. This is a man who is getting paid millions of dollars to write these lyrics, the least he can do is not repeat his trite words into even more forced rhymes.
The hammering drum barrage of “Reddleman” is typical of the noise feel of much of the album and comparing it to the quirky elements of “A Quick One” brings out again the varying range of styles which Preston’s song writing and this compilation embraces.
German brothers, Tiefschwarz, are rather old hands at this ‘Electro’ business. Genius remixers, they have worked on Kelis and The Rapture and their rework of Kinda New by Spektrum could be considered one of the best. Ever.
Of the three studio recorded tracks, “Another Season” is the pick of the bunch; it hits you like a sledge hammer to the head.
In the dark underworld of doom metal, Khanate are seated on the throne of extremity, setting an incredibly high standard for experimental music
This album is more than just a retro pastiche of a previous era’s styles. The subtle use of pastoral samples drifts through the songs giving depth to the orchestral swells and chiming guitars.
I mentioned earlier the developing template; whilst their first record stuck to one theme they knew worked (i.e high tempo guitar pop) “You Could Have It…” adds more.
If this record were a car, it would be sitting on a snowy embankment, trying to get its engine to turn over. The same way that one lays their head on the steering wheel and pleads with the pistons to begin their cyclical journeys, Live It Out, contains a promise, which is hinted at but isn’t ever fully delivered upon.
The quartet is not afraid of shying away from the blippity pop blop and is proving so with many of the tracks on Feels, a very delightfully odd transition from their previous album Sung Tongs.
What matters most about the music of Lapsus Linguae — for me at least — is that they evade every convention or expectation you could have in music. Yet they haven’t done this by releasing records that are purely a whisper or no sound at all; they’ve given the listener everything that’s fucking great in music wrapped in one picnic basket of joy.