Thursday, December 29, 2022

The missing Blemish, rectified

 by  Shaun Lawton 



  I used to really dig listening to David Sylvian, back in his glory days of the late eighties bleeding into the nineties.   I was tuned into his output during '86 and '87, when I bought and sank into his lush albums Gone to Earth and Secrets of the Beehive.   


     Then I lost touch with this mercurial artist (formerly of the band Japan).   Until 2014 crawled around, delivering forth the now impossibly rare and invaluable CD There's a Light That Enters Houses, with No Other Houes in Sight, which I ordered because of its association with my old friend, teacher and poetry mentor, Franz Wright.   



Musicians[edit]



   Perhaps needless to say, this singular CD is now worth quite a pretty penny, if you're even lucky enough to see it flash toward the surface of the deep, dark web where time has been inexorably weighing it down, to plummet deep into the ever-to-be-forgotten depths of our mostly oblivious live's drowning ocean of time. 

    What I'm hearing now listening to the 1st side of Blemish  (his sixth studio album, released in 2003) is a very sparse, minimalist sketches of ambient sounds shuddering into one another, conjuring a desolate soundscape upon which David intones his catchy lyrics, words that drift upon the glassine surface of a post-electronic sound decaying into the gentle susurration of fading soundwaves lapping unto the barren shores of our mind.  

      That was track 1,  (13 min  42  seconds  title track), which segues into The Good Son (w/Derek Bailey, an avante garde experimental guitarist whose specialty is improvisation) which plays as if they were playing live in a desolate dive bar on the outskirts of some forgotten town, with nobody else in attendance except yourself and one other intriguing persona blending into the shadows of the far wall. 

    Listening to him . . . listening closely now ... I'm happy to absorb this melancholy, spoken word ambient jazz which helps me escape through a portal in my mind's eye ... listen closely now ... to be led on a story telling journey with strange underlying intonations from the guitar strings being plucked and stroked in bizarrely compelling ways ... even at the short length of five minutes and twenty-five seconds, The Good Son takes the listener on a welcome journey to an uncomfortable place. 

   Following is another five minute song called The Only Daughter, which begins with David intoning "She was, she was.... a good friend of mine...", upon which the distillation of sounds has focused into an eerie, Enoesque backdrop scintillating with nuance and interrupted signals as Sylvian's abruptly unexpected words pull the listener in unusual directions both with the narrative and the haunting music. 

     An album for the truly melancholic souls among us.  Ordinary folk may not get what's the deal with this. They won't even see it coming... I'm just relieved I didn't let another decade or two go by before dipping back into the silver slipstream of acoustic dreams conjured effortlessly by the one and only David Sylvian.  

~thus ends Side one~
        

~stay tuned for the possibility 
of my reviewing Side two here~


   

Newyear's Sliding into us Like a homebase Glacier

 






no more lies     this is the age of confusion       Nothing factual 
nothing fictional   /  interchangeable 
  THIS IS THE AGE OF CONFUSION 

So, I'm listening  to   PUSCIFER LIVE AT ARCOSANTI  2LP limited pressing and its glorious. 

Santa  brought us that and also  8-Ball Bail Bonds at The Berger Barns  LIVE in Phoenix. 

These are seminal recordings not just for MJK and Puscifer but for rock history in general. 

    Dovetailing with the release of Bob Dylan's big thick meaty book The Philosophy of Modern Song (which my lovely wife got me for Xmas), I can honestly say as we plow forward through the strangest tides churned up by an  awakening and retaliatory Mom Earth  this is the time to be alive.     

Right now as we plumb the deepest fissures of our oceans in brand spanking new discoveries of thriving species surviving the intense pressures and temperatures in the thriving flux of volcanic vents even while   down around the southern poles of our planet a whole new continent begins shedding its frozen husk for an Edenic rebirth the likes of which we've been forced to only imagine.  
  
        


    This   long play  thirty-three rounds per minute revelation has been in gestation and perpetual evolution since the long ago inception  of the side project we all know and few have come to love as much of those of us who knew from the get go this was better than Tool with more promise of interesting cross pollination with its rotating platform of guests and artists invited to participate, well guess what?  It ain't too late to hop onto this ever-morphing musical monstrosity unless you just ain't got the chops to pull it off.   

   No one left crying here, I assure you.  Plenty of  scraps 'n' tossed aside moldy sinews of left over tissue for y'all to nibble on til your filthy little hearts are contented, plenty of raw heaving platters of fresh steaming meat to sink your teeth into, far too much meat and PO-TAE-TOES being churned up in the intricately spinning long curved blades of the Internet Blender Machine, plenty of voltage to plug into for that long term permanent grin you can get from being lit up by the ongoing circus sideshow we now know as our reality. 


   And Puscifer has at long last been coming into its own, of late and let me add this, if I may.  Like the endless process of individual survival we all must endure together here in this primitive urban jungle getting laced with advanced high definition digital tech to enhance our every sensation and demand of our ravenous egos for more stimulation and penetration so long as the Machine keeps  feeding on our continual generation of new generations to generate more money for the economy and more spending for our every need until...

  ...we'll be able to sit back and sift through the detritus getting filtered our way online by a digital sort of synthetic consciousness itself a simulation of what true, organic human consciousness might potentially resemble were it to present itself in any ordinate or tangible shape for recording and analyzation hence forthwith conjoining with greater loops of interconnective data on servers congregating into a Sentient Simulacrum (which is to say, nothing more than a simulation of what sentience might happen to be for the human primate family which has passed it on genetically since time immemorial). 

     The time is now (to flip over the record to side C) and lean our ears into the band covering Bullet Train to Iowa, perhaps their most popular slice of audio subversion to creep into the modern American airwaves in some time no longer definable).   Who - who.   Hoo - hoo.  
  Hootchy koo.   Here's where I focus on what Puscifer means to me. 

       Their debut V is for Vagina was the shiny chrome bait 'n' hook, many of us human fishes darting this way and that underneath the slipstream chose to not bite (I was not one of them, being instantly hooked into their sinister post-hip hop electronica sound), but for those who turned their noses up sneering they weren't "anywhere as good as Tool," that's okay in this tempestuous stew of life we can no longer seem to control quite as well as we used to, collectively.  I ain't got no beef with those who don't get it or wanna forget it or burn it down. 

   Now it's up to us individually to steer our own ways through this undulating labyrinth encroaching its imperial and impenetrable walls toward us, forcing us to stay on our toes and keep on the move to align ourselves in sync with the inexorable teeth of this grinding machine.   

   After all these years now listening to these two latest live bootlegs of Puscifer performing in their own home territory of the future 'Arizona Bay' islands of potential human habitation, gathered along the giving banks of the Verde river, lush opulence cultivated from a string of oases in the paradoxical and flourishing desert. 

    Everything's in convergence and Puscifer really just remains an exemplary outfit of post-modern troubadours fronted by the rather obviously talented singer lyricist Maynard Keenan who has propelled his main two bands (Tool and A Perfect Circle) well beyond the stratosphere of anyone's wildest expectations (and into the beckoning void of the beyond). 

   What will await us as the world keeps turning one thousand miles an hour in the wake of the world wide pandemic?  Will our favorite bands who've survived since the nineties keep producing astonishing and satisfying pieces of music as only they could possibly manage to do?   I think those of us paying attention have managed to figure out the answer to that. 

    Until next time our paths should cross, survivors.  If you've been skirting clear of Puscifer for whatever reasons,  I can only say that this PUSCIFER LIVE AT ARCOSANTI, for example, is a come round "full circle" sort of thing, much like their recent album V is for Versatile -- wherein Maynard dares to re-record each track from their auspicious debut (now a legendary hip hop post electronica album whether you like it or not) with fellow musicians putting in great performances on real instruments like actual drums played with genuine drumsticks and a real bass and guitar, etc.   

   Maynard lends his vocal reinterpretation to these classics, and let me just come out and say it, the listener's mind is simply pretty unprepared to take these reinterpretations in if it's already been hooked on the original studio recordings, but the great part is that those uninitiated with the electronic version might get their eyes opened wider even while those of us who prefer the originals are slowly coming around to some of these newer versions, piecemeal and a little bit at a time. 




    All in all,  I'm here to testify that we are in a veritable monsoon of artistic output here and now while the last few remaining days of 2022 go swirling down the proverbial drain at the end of the year. 

      Never has there been  more glorious time to be alive I remain convinced at the core of every atom of my being.    I can't even find a way to wrap this entry up,  it was enough that I managed to jump in here and dredge a few bits and pieces of my ongoing sonic journey head first through the ravaging storms of rock'n'roll.    

        Thornswrath out ...  




    

Sunday, October 2, 2022

K20 Cr21 Music Is Our Friend ☈ ☇

 review'd by yr roving reporter Shaun Lawton 
  (for the Oscillating Oculus



   This was not a preshow meet and greet. I bought two Royalty Package tickets directly from the DGM label because it made sense to me, and it seemed like a bargain price for what you get. {Read the official DGM statement for deeper insight: 

Royal Package

Music so wishes to be heard…
 
I
Music so wishes to be heard that sometimes it calls on unlikely characters to give it voice, and to give it ears. This wishing-to-be heard calls into existence the Performance Event; where music, musician and audience may come together as one, in communion.
 
When people get together, something happens.
When people get together with music, something remarkable happens.
 
When musician, audience and music come together in a performance, this something remarkable has a quality of its own.
The something remarkable is Music taking on a life of its own.
 
II
A primary difficulty for anyone seeking value and importance in live performance is that, in contemporary culture, the relationship between performer and audient is mediated by commerce. The difficulty of mediation by commerce is that many people in the music industry are prepared to lie for money.
 
“What has changed in 40 years? It’s very simple. Forty years ago there was a market economy. Today there is a market society. Today, everything, including ethics, has a price.”
 
DGM does what it can to combat ticketing scams, online ticket agencies with knockbacks to promoters, spurious VIP packages, dud merchandising et al. And that’s before we get to recorded music. Most of this behavior is “not illegal”, just wrong, exploitative and profoundly unethical.
 
One of our experiments in bringing together musicians and audients is the Royal Package. You are invited!

 

  • Early access to the venue and merchandise.
  • Seating in the front six rows.
  • Insights into the world of King Crimson and DGM by David Singleton, producer and manager ("the ninth man")
  • Personal insights and answers from one of the seven band members
  • Programme signed by all the members.
  • VIP Laminate
  • Exclusive Tote Bag
  • Previously unreleased King Crimson multiple CD set
$365. Strictly limited to 72 people. 10% reduction for 1000 Club members (please check email for discount code). Tickets will be collected on the day.

 

   Sure enough, I wasn't wrong about the $365 "bargain price" (as contrasted against some people's experience out there in the real world who paid upwards of $485 USD just to sit back in Section C). That's the difference, they are operating on a certain level perhaps analogous (in a post-modern sense) to one of the levels Dante wrote about the Inferno. All I have to say on that matter is welcome to it. I won't partake, as I choose to live my life on a higher echelon than that. 

   The first thing that happened when the thirty-five or forty of us Royalty Package customers were ushered to sit down in the first three rows of the middle section in front of the stage, out in the squalid heat of the day, was that Robert Fripp walked out from the shadows of the recessed amphitheater out into the bright glare of the afternoon and stood there before us in front of the mic stand. He gazed out at the small assembly of us Royalty Package customers and began to speak. 

   As you might expect he was charming and erudite and got right to the heart of the matter. He explained that he knew the timing was right for King Crimson to perform this tour last year, in 2020.  And that when the pandemic bumped it forward a year, he was concerned that the timing might be off for this elaborate endeavor to be pulled off without a hitch. He was all too happy to report that it turns out there was no need for such concern after all, as the shows on this tour had proven to be what he considered among the best of their storied career.  (Mild applause from the barracks.)  He then proceeded to explain the logistics of pulling off a tour like this were so complex and challenging as to defy description, but suffice it to say with audiences itching to listen to live music and musicians most eager to play, he regarded these economically forestalled times as reason enough to gather together their considerably formidable enterprise and as we Americans would say it, "hit the road, Jack."  

   Fripp went on to elaborate how this Music Is Your Friend tour would inject twenty million dollars into the US economy, and later David Singleton confirmed that it was the Royalty Package which most prominently accounted for the majority of DGM's revenue. After Fripp had delivered his perfectly English speech which you must understand left those of us gathered there before him in the sweltering heat fully absorbed and speechless with admiration. I considered Tony Levin being from Boston and these gentlemen's decades long association with one another, both on a professional level and in their friendship over countless spectacular tours and performances, and reflected on how their uniting to embark upon this massive tour just after the first wave of the global pandemic felt somehow heroic. Fripp indicated facing the odds between infecting one another and standing back while the economy's stalled out, implying what better solution than to fall back on the old adage, the show must go on.

   Although the band ended up delivering what we in the carefully assembled crowd had anticipated, the evening proved to be spectacular in even more vital and unexpected ways. For example the California Guitar Trio's opening set was worth the price of (Royalty Package) admission and served to foreshadow the dynamics of the Crimson beast to come. But I'm getting ahead of myself, because when David Singleton came out after Fripp retreated back into the shade and air conditioning of the amphitheater, we were treated to a gratifying and informative discussion with him, which really shed illumination into the underbelly of the progressive rock world. 

   My favorite part came after he exclaimed his relief at never having to work on another King Crimson box set again, only to realize they had recently stumbled across many tapes and recordings of Fripp's Exposure sessions, and that invariably a stunning box set of those remarkable sessions was going to have to be assembled as its own box set. He went on to explain that Fripp would play live over the loops of his formerly recorded playing, and that there has never been an officially released recording of this. (This made me realize my vinyl 2LP bootleg Air Structures by Fripp & Eno remains one of the few, if not the only recording showcasing this.)  He then played three separate examples of Frippertronics from the soundboard, to the delight of the crowd and my own pleased astonishment.  Suddenly the midsummer afternoon was filled with the beautiful sound of Fripp's guitar loops playing, with him soloing over it. I told David that it sounded to me as if it should be in a box set of No Pussyfooting, and that's when he informed us that for those early Fripp & Eno albums, it's Fripp performing 100% of the music, and that Eno had only provided the idea of using tape machines for the loops. Mind boggled, I remarked "leave it to Eno, the non-musician, whose only instrument is his Egg Head." The Vicar nodded in assent. Wow!  

   Then Jakko Jakszyk came out, and proved to be a very chillax individual who seemed right at home standing before us to answer our questions and fill us in on his vast scope of progressive rock experience. I have to state for the record that the last time I saw King Crimson happened to occur exactly twenty years before, to the very day, only it was in Colorado, at Red Rocks, when Tool closed for King Crimson on August 3, 2001. Adrian Belew was still fronting vocals for them, back then.  What are the chances that I were to see them exactly two decades later, like clockwork? It's a testament to the fact that I've noted Fripp's impressive obsession with time. I raised my hand to ask Jakko a frivolous question, "has anyone ever told you that you look like Jimmy Page?" and he remarked that although no one ever had before, that just two days ago someone pulled him aside at one of these shows and asked him if Jimmy Page were his brother. I raised my eyebrow as an indication of surprise that my question had accidentally become somewhat relevant, and as the crowd chuckled I hoped that I had at least broken the ice to get the conversation started (only I must point out there was no ice on that fine day to break really in the first place).  Everyone seemed in a comfortable place, after all we'd all chosen the obligation to be there, the only mild discomfort was the heat which could have been a lot worse, hovering as it was at around a mere 99 degrees Fahrenheit. 

   After the question and answer sessions were done, the small crowd disassembled to return their tote backs full of Kc schwag back to their cars and head over to the merch stand to see what other Crimson treats awaited to further ravage our wallets and pocket books.  (For the record I spent another $90 right then and there, purchasing 1 size lg. T-shirt, the white one for $40, a $10 patch to go on my metal warrior jacket which will be crowned and compleated with it, and I bought the two Elements double-CD collections, covering a wide assortment of live and studio tracks from over the years. 

   When California Guitar Trio went on, there was a replacement guy standing in on Chapman stick for Hideo Moriya. I didn't catch his name but he was fantastic. Paul Richards on acoustic guitar looks to me to sort of resemble a cross between Jon Anderson and Alex Lifeson. It's like Yes and Rush personified on stage and he has the guitar playing chops to back it up.  This was proven throughout their set, where the first several songs, which I was not familiar with, nonetheless kept me glued to the edge of my seat listening to their fascinating blends of textures and tones and intricate chord phrases exchanging between them with such skillful timing there were moments of transcendence when suddenly the chapman stick in the middle was like a tuning fork mirroring the melody back and forth between the other two guitarists. Their scope and range was broad and deep, as I sat sat there amazed at the wide range of sounds they were able to get from their acoustic instruments. 

   Nothing prepared the crowd for their encore, when Paul Richards began eliciting fed back mournful sounds from his guitar which morphed into a cover of Pink Floyd's Echoes that between the three of them was captured so perfectly as to leave the audience and I stunned throughout it's entire running time. During several phases of the song's legendary sonic structures, the crowd would applaud and respond appropriately. (I was convinced that if David Gilmour had been there, he'd have been impressed, which I think is saying something.) I have to say that as much as I had wished the Zappa Band could have opened for them, I realized while sitting captivated before the California Guitar Trio, that we were one lucky crowd to get to hear them play their set. At least that's how I felt while watching all three of them play. They passed musical phrases to each other, shadowing the outline of the Crimson beast to come, with it's three center staged drum sets leveling it up a few more notches. 

   There was no announcement as to when King Crimson were to start. It was around 7:35 or so after the California Trio left the stage, and I was concerned because I knew Clif and Dallas were running late. I figured it might not be until 8 that the Crimson beast would roar to life. It turns out I should've marked the time when they went on, but I was too focused on getting back to our seats in the front row from the concessions stand to watch as all seven of the guys took their places on stage. 

   The crowd cheered each individual member as they emerged into the light of day. Pat Mastelotto was among the first. (He's so cool I swear his role in the biopic could be played by Tom Waits.) My wife and I were seated in the very front row, right between Pat and Jeremy. This means technically we were in the center section a little towards stage right, which is to say, just a little to the left when facing the stage. Jeremy played some perfect keyboards during integral parts of the show, and returned to the drums with a zeal that held his own between the passing volleys from either side. We had a terrific direct view (over to the right) where Gavin Harrison sat at his drumkit, and Robert Fripp sat above and behind him on the back riser. We could see all seven members of the band, with Mel Collins standing behind a plexiglass shield to block the delivery of his wind instrumentation. We could just see his head and shoulders playing flutes, saxophones, and a variety of other similar instruments throughout the show.  His flute playing and evocative contribution to the songs really linked up with Jakko's superb vocals, together capturing the spirit of the first four albums perfectly.  That's what K20 Cr21's all about. 

   The one song I wanted to hear the most was Islands, and boy was I not disappointed as they launched into it towards the end of their first set. To not only fervently hope they would play it, and knowing they'd introduced it at some point in the tour, then having it realized before my elated ears is something that no words that I can write could even begin to convey the emotional investment of this song to me. To think I had the record back in high school, along with In the Wake of Poseidon and Lizard, and that it's the senior effort by which all bands must ultimately be judged in comparison to Zeppelin IV. 

Islands was the height of last night's show for me, without a doubt capturing the original song exactly to my heart's expectations. The vivid lyrics which have haunted my life for nearly forty years splashed and echoed from Jakko's remarkable voice and visage across the stage and washed over us in perfect accompaniment by the instruments, the three drummers having already established from the beginning that what they're doing together up there, far from being a novelty act, represents a logical improvement of the initial drum dynamic we long for. In other words, they prove its better this way. That goes for virtually any song, new or old or yet to be written by anyone. I understand it was Fripp's idea, and well he nailed it, as the trio's demonstration most tacitly proved. 

   The three drummers sketched that out at the beginning of the set with I believe is being called DrumzillaPoint taken. Watching Pat and Jeremy and Gavin trade off drum licks was a real treat that anyone who was there will likely gush on and on about. I mean, damn. I wish all my drummer friends had been there. At least I got to see Clif and Dallas there. Live music was meant to be shared. That is how you set up a drum line as the foundation for music! Then the elder statesmen from the court of the Crimson King asserted the framework of their intricate guitar riffs and time signatures in unison as they've been doing for so long. Only these seven guys were in lockstep the whole way, it really was a sight to behold and an evening of beautifully thunderous overtures to listen to. Take Mel Collins for instance. His apartness from the rest of his bandmates may have taken on a clinical aspect, with him standing behind the plexiglass shield and seeming to not step out from his area at the end, but his singular contribution to the show was absolutely essential. Like the silver fluted mast of a sail ship, he not only set the shades and color of the tone, but helped guide them as he propelled them forward over the rocky reefs of some beautiful terrain.

   The last time I saw them at Red Rocks on that not forgotten August day two decades ago they stepped out from behind the curtain with timed precision at exactly seven o'clock, striking thunderous power chords in practiced unison the moment they took the stage. I know what Fripp means when he's thinking of 2020 along parallel lines to my view of it as the year of perfect vision. Needless to say, timing is the key indeed in every way, and I'm happy that the incredible oiled machine that put this beast of a tour together has just given the US an injection of twenty million dollars into our economy. And that bit about us really needing music, well look no further than the past few weeks. I've seen both Orville Peck and now King Crimson at the same venue in Sandy, and if that's a portent for what's to come well we best wear our seatbelts if you're coming with me. It's on!


   


 

Tuesday, June 21, 2022

So Lost in the Grandeur




   

  The odyssey of discovery promulgated by korn's fourteenth studio album release has really struck me from out of left field, almost as if I've been hit by an incoming comet NASA hadn't detected.  
   
    Lies are truth refined.  Dark is light hidden from the eye.  

I don't even know where to begin.    My experiment in sonic exploration seems to have only begun.  This duality aligns.  

  I could never let go the concept of dark and light.  
  One tries to pull me in, one gives me strength to fight. 

My official preorder for REQUIEM arrived today -- one day after my preorder of the REVOLVER limited edition (1,000 pressings) silver vinyl having arrived yesterday.  So I listened to the silver vinyl and am right now about to flip the dark crimson splatter vinyl onto side B.   Disconnect just finished playing and now I can sum up my general feelings about korn in a nutshell. 
  
    To be bounded in a nutshell and count one's-self king of infinite space.  I imagine this comes very close to Jonathan Davis's own headspace.    There's one variable connecting him to Hamlet, at least.   

Am I implying that korn's latest album may be seen as having some positively Shakespearean aspects to it? Damn straight I am.  After all, few frontmen in rock and roll have personified all the world being their stage with as much visceral eloquence as the man who fronts the band from Bakersfield. 

  Hopeless and fucking beaten.

In the wake of online fan forum discussions concerning the digital compression and loudness tactics that seem to plague the CD version of Requiem, I can now veritably guarantee that yes indeed, the vinyl edition of this album stands now as the definitive version that should really be listened to (along with the cassette).  

  For example, I had no idea that Worst Is On Its Way is really an acoustic song until I listened to it on my record player.  Incredible what the organic warmth of the vinyl medium can do.  Destroyed by your penance to sorrow.  Go,  Go, Go!  

  But I am not jesting.   Every track on Requiem sounds a little different than the digital rip to my ears now that I'm attuned into the grooves.  And so what is this?  You wait to commence? You just run and hide!    The industrial slamming riffs of My Confession really balance against the loose swinging groove of the bass and drums supporting Jonathan's impressive range of vocal stylings.   

   Lonesome, your bed is made.  The outcome a useless masquerade.  In this song Korn have at last lived up to the legacy they were pointed directly at standing proud on the stage getting close to thirty years ago now.  

    The crushing riffs alternating with the squeaky hollow reverberating counter-lead work, which is the evolved trademark of the 2-Headed Monster (Head and Munky trading off their licks with uncanny efficiency) has by now evolved into an artform they've served up with perfection on this album.  

   It's toward the end of Worst Is On Its Way where I can actually hear an acoustic guitar being strummed (like delicate shells revealed on the beach when the riptide of churning guitars pulls away momentarily).  I don't believe it's noticeable on the .mp3 -- that is, the digital rip -- but I haven't listened to the CD version yet, so I wonder if its evident on that.    This is exactly why the analog mastered vinyl edition of Requiem, it's like the director's cut versions of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings movies.   The only ones worth experiencing.  

   I've been pulled through Requiem enough times to have experienced both the highest possible heights and even been dragged through an uncomfortable exposure to the lowest depths inherent to the songs captured on this fourteenth studio effort from Korn.   And right now I can say with a smile, the nutshell I was referring to earlier is that this album really brings the band full circle and in other words sounds as if it could be an auspicious debut and I do mean that in the sense that one of the remarkable aspects of today's age, circa 2022, is that there's such a prevalence of material out there within our exploding human population that its easy for all of it to get lost or dismissed in the burgeoning crowd.  Make no mistake about it.  Korn's promise of being Here To Stay, delivered all of twenty years ago, still rings true to this day.   

   I believe this phenomenon has been occurring since the get go, even to go so far as saying that the world is designed like that, it's in its nature to repeat itself with new iterations because it's on an infinite loop; and as many new batches of fans discover older bands, the demographics shift and morph into different shapes, even as some earlier, now disgruntled fans drop the band and move on toward new and different waters, fresh new generations of kids discover Korn anew and the cycle begins again.   

   The musical landscape of rock'n'roll constantly shifts and evolves, undergoing all manner of topographical storms, and for us to neglect to consider the impact the Covid pandemic has had on virtually everything we do in our daily lives, for the past two years, is to potentially overlook certain aspects of the music industry itself which dominate and shape the form commercial music takes. 

  I'm just grateful that one of my favorite bands of all time has successfully climbed to such a height of commercial success.  For one, it vindicates my stance a quarter of a century ago when I said that Korn were eventually going to become "as big as the Beatles," and for another, it means that they're still in the game -- and still influencing the shape of music to come. 

  These guys have been my rock'n'roll heroes for twenty-seven years, now.  I no longer question how they manage to keep on doing it any more than I questioned how they managed to do it in the first place.  The same certain confidence which brought about their memorable single Here To Stay all those years ago remains today in both the band and its growing, ravenous fanbase.  

    What else can I say?   Hell, I could write a book.  Maybe someday I will, and if not, fukk it. 
I'll never forget when I decided,  at the very last moment no less, to go ahead and log onto YouTube on Thursday, February 3, earlier this year, when Korn livestreamed their concert at the Hollywood United Methodist Church in LA.   OMG, did I ever make the right choice. That show was a complete surprise, an absolute stunner, believe me you kinda had to have been there, and I do mean even livestreaming it from the comfort of your own home, in perfect pandemic Zoom style. 

    I've got to lay it out 4U all. First off, I myself,  as die hard a fan of the band and their music as anyone, truly doubted the efficacy of opening with a live church choir, on account of the glorious harmonies and beautiful tones setting a bar far too high for any band, much less Korn, to follow in the wake of.  Know what I mean?  I was thinking,  "damn... soon as the heavenly music of the choir fades away and the band takes center stage, thumping and clicking away with their aging vocalist straining at the mic with these songs..."  well let's just say I worried just a lil' bit that it might be cringe-worthy...   

    Boy was that ever not the case.  Turns out the band  accompanied the church choir, or should I say vice-versa?  It doesn't matter...what followed was really impressive as the five members of the band  (eschewing Fieldy, who's been on hiatus, while the bass player Ra Diaz of Suicidal Tendencies stood in for him) seamlessly integrated their sound with the celestial tones of the church choir, and eased their way to front and center stage while they proceeded to knock eight songs out of the park; it was outstanding and I swear to all the angels in heaven and demons in hell that it was a riveting performance for the ages.  

     They opened with Falling Away From Me,  a perennial favorite and a perfect match for the church choir and musicians, as if they were fated for one another.   Alone I Break followed and somehow its underlying message blended in perfect harmony with the hallowed atmosphere of the church.  What on Earth was happening, here?  Then I realized that Jon must've embraced this golden opportunity to blaspheme in a church...  Lol (that must be it).  Then they launched into No One's There, and I should take this moment to mention the band sounded fantastic, and Jon's vocals were on point, but my God I did not expect them to play this song... No One did!  WTF...  It became perfectly evident right about then that this was a moment in time that the band would either conquer or be conquered by.  And O, Lord did they ever deliver.    I could not believe what my eyes were taking in or my ears hearing.   

  When they launched into their new single Start the Healing, the song began to make perfect sense in the wake of the pandemic, and the whole point of their playing a Requiem live in a church (with 300 lucky individuals who managed to score tickets in attendance, all dressed in funereal black to honor the fallen over the past couple of years).   Korn were dead serious, dressed to the nines, and they played their bleeding hearts out.  I can't wait to get the eventual DVD and experience the whole thing in all its twisted glory again.  Ray Luzier was absolutely possessed while playing the drums.  

  Next came Lost in the Grandeur, and by now I was amazed that these aging gents still has what it takes to knock these songs out of the proverbial park.  That did not prepare me for the final three songs, each of which continued to shock and amaze with their perfect delivery.  Those songs were Hopeless and Beaten (my favorite from the new album), Worst Is On Its Way, and Let The Dark Do The Rest.  Like I mentioned earlier, you had to have been there.  On a side note.  This was the first time I heard Hopeless and Beaten and those last two tracks.  The way Jon sang "Hopeless! and Really Beaten!" sent chills down my spine, having no clue that it was the "clean" version of the chorus. It was great in retrospect because we all know how the song really goes, now.  But that just made me appreciate the track even more when I finally listened to the record itself. It's likely the heaviest song Korn ever recorded, at least to my ears and mind, and it's an absolute stand-out track on the album.  

   What else can I say?  Enough is enough, already.  Korn just knocked their 14th album into outer space. And they have amassed enough material for the next album already, just like the epic closing track suggests, lol. Well I say, "Bring it!"       










    


    

Saturday, June 18, 2022

It Don't Matter What Been Said

 by  Shaun Lawton 



Finally listening to IV & the Strange Band's  highly anticipated LP Southern Circus.  I preordered the die hard yellow vinyl edition a ways back.  I was already on top of things when I preordered the 7" of Son of Sin.  That already feels like a classick, and only one day's past since the album dropped.  Strange days indeed.  The way I feel inside, no one could know how, anyway.  This record's hitting me like an arrow straight through the heart. It really packs a wallop.  I've been primed to receive these songs through my ear holes for awhile now.  Lemme tell you that it's not a disappointment.  In fact I am blown away by every track.  This album's legend is blossoming inside me like Invasion of the Body Snatchers.  I'm a goddamned IV & the Pod People man, now.  It's annealing the sadness in me.  Like my heart's been forged in the fires of Hell.  Now the flaming sword I carry inside me has been tempered to a vorpal edge eternally. My own body's my shield on account of my heart being my sword. My hands are just the daggers I carry by my side. I'm just another old son of sin.  


                                                    digital rendering I made on Deep Dream Generator



I sure hope Coleman brings his strange band through Salt Lake City sooner than later. I feel like I may be reaching through to him, slowly but surely, via my social utility presence.  I've come close to intersecting with him on a few cyber fronts.  It's only a matter of time before I get to see them perform live here.  I'm hoping it's one of his all ages shows. I'd surely love to bring Zane to it.  This pandemic has really thrown us for a loop.  At least we got to see Orville Peck together, Zane and Shasta and I.  That was fucking phenomenal. Zane & I danced around like mad, chasing each other up and down the lawn, and I raced down and around to get closer to the stage, and Zane followed me, and I swung him up and held him high so he could see Orville doing his thing.   But if IV & the Strange Band hit up the Metro Music Hall or something, where it's 21+, I'll go to that show if it's the only other show I see this year besides Roger Waters, on Sept 8.    The only other shows I've seen recently post-pandemic are King Crimson at the Sandy Amphitheater (where we saw Orville Peck, incidentally) and then Zombi opening for The Sword at the Metro Music Hall, oh and yeah,  Mono of course at the Urban Lounge, touring for the first time since Covid hit, representing their stunning eleventh album Pilgrimage of the Soul.  But I digress.  




When I first heard Deep Down, it was because I broke down and watched the video on YouTube, not really being able to help myself.  I'll tell you what.  Not only did the song hit me like a ton of bricks, but the video was a perfect match to it (which is very unusual, in and of itself, cuz videos usually distract from the music, and often can even ruin a song if you're not careful).    And then hearing it play about as loud as my stereo could handle it, well it sounds fantastic.   I think that's the hardest rocking track on the whole record.   But I've only spun it once, and I'm ready to give it another spin, right off the bat.  I'm going to go ahead and say it. This is a legendary debut album we have before us, right here.  And I could care less if any of you fuckers even give it the time of day.  An album hasn't hit me this hard since korn's self titled dropped all of those twenty-eight years ago. I bought that from Bull Moose Music in Portland, Maine on cassette tape. The rest is history.     





It's weird the way things line up sometimes.  Like how I just managed to score dax rigg's swan song album Say Goodnight to the World on vinyl since I luckily spotted it available on daks's bandcamp page.  Turns out it dropped onto the Fat Possum label back in 2019.  Honestly the one I just got must be a repressing cuz how does this album stay a secret for three years, ain't no way.  I first bought it on CD twelve years ago, back in 2010 when it came out. It was obvious to me then as plain as it is now, this was his final statement, the last Dax Riggs record.  Why on Earth should that be the case? May as well ask Coleman's daddy, Sheldon the same question.  Why is Fiendish Threat the last thing Hank 3 done put out.  There's something in the air, idk.  Both artists are perfectly capable and even still young enough to a certain extent where there's no question they could put out another few great and relevant albums. We're all operating on different lengths with our cycles. I guess some folk's circular voyages with this planet going around the Sun take longer spans of time than others. 

     It's about time Coleman's music project IV & the Strange Band alights on this godforsaken nest we've built and which still hasn't been blown away in the gales being whipped up in the world. I like how he obviously has something to say and he ain't afraid to come out and say it. My voice would waver too if I had half the guts he does.  Strange Circus arrives like a punch in the stomach. I feel like the air just got knocked out of me. And I like it.  It's been a long time coming and it sure as hell was worth the wait.   Right now I'm still reeling from it, gasping for air, and so I'll leave well enough alone by repeating that every last track on this album absolutely floored me.  Trust me on this, this album doesn't need a "review," it's something you either get or you don't, and so you either live it or you won't.   No one cares if you don't get it, go away and stay away.  It's like korn and cancerslug, or tom waits,  an all or nothing deal.  Coleman can stand tall and easy right up there with them greats, it'll be alright. The next few decades are gonna slip by so fast like rattlers sidlin' over a massive set of railroad tracks. Ain't no time for slowin' down nor looking back. Feels like we're gearing up for the long hard slide into home base, nowadays.  And well I don't know, if you ask me, I kinda like it like that.