Guapo
Elixirs
(Neurot)
Release date: March 10, 2008

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Guapo's Elixirs has been slept on for too long, for which I apologize. This is one of the most satisfying prog-rock releases to cross my desk in a long time. A lot of progressive rock exists only to flaunt the players' flamboyant technical abilities. It's music made strictly to impress other musicians . Sometimes this approach results in awesome music, provided the instrumentalists have soul and/or songwriting chops (see Mahavishnu Orchestra, Yes, Gentle Giant, King Crimson, et al.).

But there's another species of prog rock that's more about creating otherworldly moods and textures. That's the type of prog group Guapo are. Although their chops are tight, that's not their raison d'être. Consisting of Daniel O'Sullivan (Rhodes, piano, bass, guitars, harmonium, synths, electronics, autoharp and voice), David J. Smith (drums, percussion), Kavus Torabi (guitar) and James Sedwards (bass), Guapo operate in the same rarefied, quasi-ritualistic manner as artists like Popol Vuh, Third Ear Band, Moondog and Talk Talk ca. Laughing Stock.

Elixirs abounds with gorgeous melodies suffused in elegant tonalities, but nothing sounds obvious or played out. Rather, mystery imbues nearly every passage over the disc's six tracks (stretched over 58 minutes, all of them justified). “Twisted Stems: The Selenotrope” creepily evokes some of Goblin's soundtrack work for horror maestro Dario Argento or middle-period Swans when Jarboe sang with them. “King Lindorm” starts with a portentous metallic percussion and keyboard textures that recall bits of Pink Floyd's Ummagumma and a certain strain of gamelan or Tibetan Buddhist music. The piece transitions into some eerie Rhodes motifs (reminiscent of Soft Machine's Mike Ratledge) buttressed by an attractively lugubrious bass line and plangent guitar accents, before shifting into more of those Goblin-esque blood-chilling vibraphone lines and Red menace guitar riffs (i.e., Frippian). The track continues to subtly morph throughout its 15+ minutes, building in intensity and density, becoming ripe to score a suspenseful art-house thriller.

Elixirs is a towering achievement, as is Guapo's last album, the Zeuhl-esque Black Oni.

The Lions
Jungle Struttin'
(Ubiquity)
Release date: February 19, 2008

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

The Lions include seven LA musicians who have seemingly immersed themselves in the ganja-smoke-saturated aura of Jamaica's finest sonic export and devised a sound based on it. Which is to say, undivided attention must be paid to their just-released album, Jungle Struttin'.

Composed of members from such crucial units as Breakestra, Orgone, Madlib's Sound Directions, Connie Price & the Keystones and Rhythm Roots All-Stars, the Lions use reggae and dub as their default mode, evoking resinated, mid-'70s Kingston more than late-'00s Los Angeles, a very neat trick. From that base/bass, the Lions roam into subtle extrapolations of Afrobeat, funk and the wonderful aural intoxicant you hear on those Ethiopiques compilations.

Caucasian dudes exploring a myriad global musics typically comes off sounding diluted and uninspired, but the Lions possess an intangible, sympathetic affinity that enables them to assimilate these styles without degrading nor merely Xeroxing them. And the cover of the James Brown-penned “Think (About It)” by Lyn Collins is cleverly reimagined as a sensuously churning skank with spirited vocals by Noelle Scaggs. Jah-breakingly good stuff.

White Rainbow
Prism of Eternal Now
(Kranky)
Release date: October 1, 2007

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

White Rainbow is manifested in Portland, Oregon by one Adam Forkner, who previously expanded minds in Yume Bitsu and Surface of Eceyon; he's also sat in on recordings with Devendra Banhart, Jackie-O Motherfucker and Dirty Projectors. All of these facts should have your Pavlovian Psychodelik meter frantically ding-dinging right about now.

As the glorious title Prism of Eternal Now hints, Forkner aims to transport you to a dimension where clocks are rendered useless and you become blissfully ensnared in a translucent web of shimmering guitars, synths and treated vocals. Your mind trip to this exalted state is further enhanced by chimes, gongs, octave generators, shakers, tablas, water jugs and computers equipped with the philosopher's stone instead of silicon.

Prism of Eternal Now is for folks who have pretty much purged the need to “rock” from their systems (or who simply want a respite from it for a while) and who wish to vibrate on a higher frequency, but without the hokey New Age accouterments. “For Terry” is a pitch-perfect homage to the innovative minimalist composer Terry Riley (especially his timeless A Rainbow in Curved Air), which gives you an idea of the lofty brain-massaging and meditative grandeur for which Forkner is striving. “Mystic Prism” soars into a sun-dazzled, secular holy zone previously only inhabited by Popol Vuh. “Warm Clicked Fruit” recalls the intimate glitch-and-miasma electronica of ambient artists like Loscil and Shuttle358. “Guitar” is a profound exploration into that instrument's capacity to evoke the aum/hum of the universal generator that keeps this world spinning. That it seems to be whirling off its axis toward the end could be Forkner's subtle commentary on global events—or maybe it's just me over-analyzing a wonderful instrumental track.

Prism of Eternal Now concludes with “Awakening,” a diaphanous sighing of angels tinted with the slightest premonition of unease. It's like a tremulous cry of hope against a backdrop of imminent catastrophe, a glimmer of peace before it all gets grimmer.

Satanique Samba Trio
Sangrou
(Amplitude Art)

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

On their MySpace page, Satanique Samba Trio write that their music sounds like “a jar full of wrong.” Sounds right to me.

SST hail from Brazil, but don't expect any “Girl From Ipanema” mellowness or Mutantes-like psychedelic whimsy from this quintet (even their name is wrong). Instead, SST wrench out angular, knotty grotesqueries that allude to avant-garde jazz and progressive rock without exhibiting obvious trademarks of either genre. You know how some faces are so ugly you can't take your eyes off 'em? An ugliness that's so over-the-top it becomes a fucked-up kind of beauty? Same principle applies to SST's music. Sangrou is kind of like The Elephant Man of albums—and I think David Lynch would appreciate these guys, too.

Sangrou's 16 tracks skitter by in 35 minutes, but a lot of sonic info is crammed into its brief run time. The prevalent modes are clattering, disjointed and spastic. Imagine John Zorn's more jittery, scatterbrained compositions played by French eccentric Albert Marcoeur, or the Mothers of Invention if they were sozzled on rum. A recurring tension between highbrow jazz and lowbrow circus music lends the disc an oddly compelling friction.

According to the press bio, two SST members reputedly are ex-gangsters while the other three are music-school graduates; their live shows often feature transvestite dancers. Now this crazy album is starting to make sense. . . . Prolonged exposure to Sangrou makes me want to smash bottles, slap asses and cuss in Portuguese.

Below is a short video of a track not on Sangrou, which nonetheless gives you an inkling of SST's off-kilter genius.

Various Artists
Si, Para Usted: The Funky Beats of Revolutionary Cuba Volume One
(Waxing Deep)
Release date: June 5, 2007

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Just when you think there can't possibly be any more scenes that need unearthing, along comes this shocker. Who knew that Cuba, in all its Castro-ated iron-fistedness, was a hotbed of funkadelic inventiveness?

Turns out these Commies could get down—and maybe Fidel cut some slack for his country's músicos, the old softy. Si, Para Usted documents a thriving community of musicians who merged their country's renowned rhythmic verve with the piquant progressive-rock, psychedelic and funk elements that were infiltrating bands worldwide during the '70s. Such was the exploratory/creative power of the times (and the potent drugs) that these influences penetrated the Communist cultural gatekeepers and seeped into Cuba's stream of (altered) consciousness.

It's safe to say that most of Si, Para Usted's lineup (compiled by Dan Zacks, who hosts the podcast Waxing Deep Radio) will be unfamiliar to most listeners; the only names I recognize are Irakere and Jorge Reyes. Nonetheless, nearly every track's a keeper and many are as sublime as the best specimens any band in the “free” world had to offer.

A feverish Afro-Caribbean sensuality permeates the rhythms of many of the cuts here, and intense heat waves of rococo guitar, brass, woodwind and keyboard also predominate. Many selections made me think of Santana jamming with Fela Kuti's Africa 70 and Os Mutantes in an equatorial opium den. The 17 songs on Si, Para Usted coruscate, radiate and oscillate beyond the Buena Vista Social Club's templates while still acknowledging their importance. Si, Para Usted is a helluva rumba in the jungle.

Blues Control
Blues Control
(Holy Mountain)
Release date: May 29, 2007

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Any band with “Blues” in its name in 2007 should be viewed with suspicion. Chances are they'll be overly ironic or excruciatingly purist. Either way, they're probably not gonna be worth your time. That being said, Queens, New York's Blues Control obliterate my little pet theory with their debut album on the estimable Holy Mountain Records.

Consisting of keyboardist Lea Cho and guitarist/sound manipulator Russ Waterhouse, Blues Control are to their hoary namesake genre what Jamie Lidell is to soul music: a brilliant mutational aberration. Disc opener “Blues Control” sounds like a Blue Cheer song run through a newfangled digital signal processing unit set to GROTESQUE. Right away, we know this isn't going to be your typical exercise in heavy-rock worship. “Boiled Peanuts” is surprisingly pretty, albeit in a strangely distant and warped way. A spluttering motor forms the beat, the guitar sounds like a duck squawking in glorious agony, and a two-chord piano motif mesmerizes like Bill Evans in a Sufi trance. These somewhat unpromising elements coalesce into one of the album's best tracks. It's neither fish nor fowl, for which I, being vegan, give thanks. “Migration” evokes the dewy melodic splendor and transformative drone power of German immortals Popol Vuh. “The Blue Sheep” could be a bent-brained remix of David Bowie's “Art Decade.” “No Sweat” starts off heart-rendingly gorgeous and slightly reminiscent of Brian Eno's “Here Come the Warm Jets” until a gut-wrenching, seesawing, downtuned guitar riff barges in and takes things to Butthole Surfers' bad-trip basement of bloated hallucinations. The reverbed percussion solo at the end is a perfectly unexpected kiss-off.

Blues Control know rock and blues history, and they condemn themselves to fuck with these genres till they're barely recognizable. With sly, sinister intent, they refurbish them into bizarre new forms. In a way, Blues Control perform the same task—but with heavier atmospheric pressure and rock crunch—that the Residents have been doing for over three decades: making the familiar seem utterly alien. You can't say that the familiar didn't have it coming. . . .

Strategy
Future Rock
(Kranky)
Release date: May 21, 2007

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Strategy (Portland multi-instrumentalist Paul Dickow) is an omnivorous music aficionado whose passions spill into his own creations. As keyboardist for the bands Nudge and Fontanelle, he indulges his predilections for Can-style krautrock and heady/fusiony funk. In his solo guise as Strategy, Dickow forges lush melanges of ambient, dub, techno, house, IDM and even ruffneck ragga (see his contributions to Tigerbeat6's Shockout sublabel).

Back in 2004, Dickow told me in an interview with The Stranger: "The next Strategy CD is called Future Rock. I wanted to have an 'ambient' music that had the propulsion of rockin' dance tracks, soul, dub, rap, etc., so it's kind of like this washy cloud music where buried in the core is various fast rhythm music—some kind of guitar riff, or an electro break, or some other foreign element, and a strong dubbed-out soul component throughout." Three years later, the album's finally available to the public, and Dickow's kept his word.

Future Rock is a mongrel work that will frustrate purists and please those seeking hybrids of the aforementioned genres woven by a producer possessing masterly hands and ears. Strategy daubs the stereo field with diaphanous seagreen and aquamarine tones and fashions cushiony beats that will get you skanking in slow-motion, releasing your inner spliff-tokin', dreadlock-sportin' self. This is not so much Future Rock as pacific dub and tranquil techno gently locked in a ganja-smoke-hazed embrace. (Although "Sunfall [Interlude]" and "I Have to Do This Thing" sound like long-lost outtakes from My Bloody Valentine's Loveless.)

And you know what? Future Rock is so beautiful, it makes you believe that the expression "one love" isn't some mystical hippie jive, but actually an attainable goal. As Marc Bolan might say were he alive and stoned enough, gang a bong, get it on.

The Sea and Cake
Everybody
(Thrill Jockey)
Release date: May 8, 2007

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

The Sea and Cake never get ruffled. The Sea and Cake never raise their voices. The Sea and Cake wear white after Labor Day—and get away with it, because they have that much panache. The Sea and Cake are the suavest rock band (sonically) on the planet. The Sea and Cake = Steely Dan x Stereolab ÷ square root of Tortoise. The Sea and Cake have 2783 MySpace friends (as of today), which is just enough. The Sea and Cake make lounge music cohabit gracefully with motorik-rhythmed krautrock, which is harder to do than you would imagine. The Sea and Cake are both laid-back and anal-retentive, which is harder to be than you would imagine. The Sea and Cake don't sound like they're from Chicago, but rather from Southern California, due to their breezy, carefree style, which may make their appearance at Solana Beach's Belly Up Tavern a coals-to-Newcastle experience, but as coals-to-Newcastle experiences go, this one will be hard to beat. The Sea and Cake were boring the last time I saw them live in Cleveland, but a lot of bands save their most lackluster performances for Cleveland, so don't hold that against them.

The Sea and Cake's latest album, Everybody, is their seventh and second-best yet. Produced by Brian Paulson (Slint, Wilco) rather than drummer John McEntire, Everybody boasts a typically pristine and ideally feng shui'd sound. The Sea and Cake have undergone no radical deviations from previous Sea and Cake albums, though there are subtle gradient shifts. McEntire's impeccable stickwork is slightly more propulsive and insistent, but Sam Prekop still sings as if a sleeping baby's in the studio. "Exact to Me" features a really tricky time signature and complex interplay among guitarists Prekop and Archer Prewitt and bassist Eric Claridge that hints every so faintly at African highlife. "Left On" is probably the Sea and Cake's noisiest and most driving song to date, but it still won't raise eyebrows when it comes on over your coffeehouse's PA. The Sea and Cake are all about elegance and restraint, and living a champagne lifestyle on Kool-Aid wages.

The Sea and Cake play tonight with Robbers on High Street and Zincs at Belly Up Tavern, 143 S. Cedros, Solana Beach, 858-481-8140.

Skeletons and the Kings of All Cities
Lucas
(Ghostly International)
Release date: May 8, 2007

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

I hear thousands of new CDs and LPs every year. In any given 12-month period, the number of genuinely surprising, original releases can easily fit into a regular-sized backpack. I would include Lucas in that sack. When music leaves you this baffled and befuddled, you know you're in the presence of something special. All of which makes reviewing such a distinctive magnum opus very challenging. But here goes...

Imagine a polymath multi-instrumentalist who's ransacked the world's greatest brick-and-mortar and online record shops, digested their richest contents, and then tried to synthesize them all into crazy-quilt compositions designed for saturation airplay—on Neptune.

I realize that this description is still inadequate, but beads of blood are forming on my forehead as I try to come to grips with this ineffable sound. Skeletons and the King of All Cities are basically Matt Mehlan and a loose collective of musicians who operate on his lofty wavelength; they used to be Skeletons and the Girl-Faced Boys. The only thing he doesn't excel at is naming his projects.

He and his crew roil, sparkle, rumble, clank, and slither along the musical spectrum, accruing obscure influences from Africa, Asia, Europe, North America, and the ether. Maybe if Esperanto were music, it would sound like Skeletons. Maybe if Animal Collective covered Brian Eno/David Byrne's My Life in the Bush of Ghosts with Arthur Russell at the controls, it would sound like Skeletons. Neo-classical-prog-gamelan-soul-funk? All right, call it that if you want to hear a million record-store clerks' heads explode.

I know this sounds like hipster eclecticism run rampant, but Lucas is actually imbued with as much soul as anything from the minds of D'Angelo or Jamie Lidell. It's just composed of less obvious mannerisms and signifiers. As with the work of the late Arthur Russell, Skeletons finesse the esoteric into the accessible. Just don't ask me where to file their damned releases...

Lichens
Omns
(Kranky)
Release date: May 7, 2007

White/Lichens
White/Lichens
(Holy Mountain)
Release date: April 16, 2007

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Lichens is Chicago musician Rob Lowe, whom you may know from his stints in 90 Day Men and a very popular band from NYC that's often compared to Pixies and Peter Gabriel. Those are fine groups and they undoubtedly help Lowe pay the bills, but to this listener, they serve as mere necessary distractions that allow the man to operate solo as Lichens, which seems to be his real reason for being on the planet.

Omns is Lichens' follow-up to his stunning debut LP, The Psychic Nature of Being (2005). His aim here seems to be generating as much spiritual chi as possible with only voice, piano/organ, guitar and judiciously deployed FX pedals. With Lichens, spiritual = spare ritual. Omns summons such masters of sonic profundity as minimalist composers Terry Riley and Morton Feldman, avant-garde vocalists Joan LaBarbara and Somei Satoh, free-jazz guitarist Sonny Sharrock, and a particularly soulful Tibetan monk who happens to own a few John Fahey LPs. This is music for people with long attention spans who spend an inordinate amount of time pondering infinity and their place in the universe. If you desire inner peace, you could do much worse than to listen to Lichens every morning as you down your shot of wheatgrass juice and go through your yoga asanas. (Omns also contains a DVD featuring a 28-minute live performance from 2006 at Chicago's Empty Bottle. As all Lichens shows are unique, this extra disc is a nice souvenir.)

White/Lichens finds Lowe collaborating with Matt Clark and Jeremy Lemos, a.k.a. White, and it's a very sympathetic match-up. All three heads seem to be arcing on the same astral plane and oscillating in supreme harmony. Over five tracks, White and Lichens launch eerie, starry-void-strafing drones that are too magnificent for any sci-fi-flick director to use. This is turbulent, lost-in-the-cosmos stuff, all shuddering scrapes, fibrillating wails, and scathing gusts of solar wind. Whereas Omns plumbed innermost, cerebral/spiritual realms, White/Lichens radiates outward in intense orbits of disorienting conflagration, especially the infernal 16-minute finale, "Bael," which seemingly fills the heavens with hellfire. Space may be deep, but White/Lichens damn near fill it up to the hilt.

AAM
Kraut Slut
(Static Discos)
Release date: May 8, 2007

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Ah, Mexican techno. Huh? You don't know about the thriving techno scene south of the border? ¡Escucha, amigos! Tijuana in particular is booming with electronic musicians, and that fine city is the home base of Static Discos, Mexico's premier label for such adventurous sounds. I've yet to hear a weak release on Static, yet it hasn't really racked up the acclaim it should, perhaps due to its patchy distribution and relative isolation in Central America (though it has an office in San Diego, too).

AAM (Antiguo Autómata Mexicano, a.k.a. Angel Sánchez Borges) formerly played in Mex underground rock bands Superdrogas and Slow Motion Love, and also currently records as Seekers Who Are Lovers. None of which I've heard, but no matter, because AAM is the business. Similar to Jan Jelinek's recent work, Kraut Slut is not at all as crass as that title would lead you to believe (it's not a concept album about a Teutonic tart). Rather, it is an incredibly deep and cerebral exploration of minimal glitchy techno and early-'70s experimental German rock (two of my favorite styles, whaddaya know?). Sure, you're thinking, with dripping sarcasm: party central. But seriously, tracks like "All Styl," "Mitte," and "Co-opt (I.A. Bericochea Mix)" burble, bounce, throb, and percolate with pizazz; I can imagine them warming up a club crowd during a Ricardo Villalobos or Luciano DJ set—and you know how hard those hombres like to party.

Like the nachos most U.S.-based Mexican restaurants place on your table, Static Discos' releases entice you to consume them with obsessive gusto. I humbly suggest you start with Kraut Slut and make your way through the entire zesty back catalog.

Alex Delivery
Star Destroyer
(Jagjaguwar)
Release date: April 24, 2007

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Okay, when your publicist slings around references like Can, Faust, and Arthur Russell in your press sheet (first sentence, no less), you had better be able to deliver the goods, or you're going to look mighty foolish—or you're going to need to hire a new publicist with a more pragmatic perspective. The flack goes on to name-check Terry Riley's Shri Camel (catnip to a critic like me), Sparks, and Dead C. Whoa, whoa, back up there, sport. This is what's known as over-egging the cake. Alex Delivery, a New York quintet, are releasing their debut album; no need to smother 'em with comparisons that create unrealistic expectations.

That being said, Star Destroyer is a distinctive-sounding disc that has a tendency to rev the motorik groove thang for extended sojourns down the autobahns of your hypnotized mind. So I can understand the Can/Faust comparisons, but Alex Delivery don't quite cruise with the same authority as those krautrock legends. What AD do excel at is the forging of guitar sounds that emulate rusty door hinges, hundreds of dollars in loose change clanking around a pickup truck, a knife-sharpening convention, and xylophones that have been left out in the rain. The group also has a deft way with wistful melodies, sort of like Neutral Milk Hotel, but thankfully without the whiny vocals. "Milan" represents the zenith of AD's quasi-orchestral melodic grandeur, and as a bonus, it's set to a skipping, mesmerizing rhythm that vaguely recalls Can's "Oh Yeah." "Scotty" is a WTF? tangent, some kind of weird blend of exploding kettle-drum cacophony and schmaltzy, waltzy, Tin Pan Alley-esque songcraft. "Sheath-Wet" is like Faust's "Krautrock" as interpreted by an ambitious orchestral-rock band who have heard, yes, Terry Riley, and understood that minimalist composer's ability to wring poignancy and power through repetition. "Vesna" closes the album with a Mercury Rev/Polyphonic Spree/Flaming Lips-ish flourish, a streamers-aflappin' finale of skewed, wide-screen pop.

All right, so maybe Alex Delivery do deserve the high-falutin' name-dropping. I'm just looking out for the their best interests. I hope they remember my act of kindness when they blow up and get a choice slot at Coachella next year.

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Grails
Burning Off Impurities
(Temporary Residence)
Release date: May 1, 2007

Portland quartet Grails reward your patience. Their singerless songs gradually unspool at a stately pace, conjuring exotic vistas that you won't see in tourism brochures, but rather in the hallucinogen-enhanced expressions of seers and psychonauts. Burning Off Impurities, the band's fourth album, is a supremely spacious record, subtly spiced with tamboura drones and string instruments that force you to hit Wikipedia to learn about their origins. The album's steered by one of underground rock's most inventive drummers, Emil Amos (he kept time, in a manner of speaking, for Jandek on the cult legend's last U.S. tour).

On Impurities, Grails tap into a mystical, majestic, psychedelic vein that alludes to the work of Germany's Popol Vuh and Agitation Free, Turkey's Edip Akbayram and Erkin Koray, and America's Scenic. Which is not to imply that Grails are merely replicating their awesome record collection. Rather, these influences are worn lightly and dashingly, and then whipped into a flavorful elixir of off-the-beaten-path soul massage, disguised as soundtrack music for that imaginary sequel to Alejandro Jodorowsky's desert-noir classic, El Topo. (You know music is special when it forces you to mix metaphors this ridiculously.)

Lest you think Impurities is all ethnodelic mellowness that you'll want to play at your next opium-den-themed party, "Origin-ing" provides some storm-the-temple, Morricone-meets-Cul De Sac tension and coruscating crescendoing. And if you can't accommodate some coruscating crescendoing in your life, then I truly pity you.

Impurities is a spiritual travelogue in sound played with nobility, finesse, and zeal by humble dudes from the Pacific Northwest. It is a rare thing to hear in 2007 and I applaud Grails' audacity to create something so out of step with our compressed-to-hell-MP3ed, puny-attention-spanned zeitgeist.

Mammatus
The Coast Explodes
(Holy Mountain)
Release date: April 23, 2007

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

A quintet out of Corralitos, California (no, me neither), Mammatus wrestle with the legacy of Hawkwind, Black Sabbath, and other progenitors of heavy, brain-glazing rock loco-motion. Plenty of intelligent longhairs trudge down this Orange Amp-strewn path, many doing no more than paying homage while adding nothing new to the style. Mammatus can't in good conscience be called innovative in this regard, but they do extrapolate on some of the elements laid down by space rock and heavy metal's pioneers.

Their sophomore album, The Coast Explodes, often curlicues into baroque passages of quasi-classical grandeur with enough panache to straighten Brian May's hair. On "The Changing Wind," Mammatus deviate from their norm with a sparse, Wicker Man-like folk ramble featuring pennywhistle (or is it a recorder?), acoustic guitar, and hand percussion. It works surprisingly well, whether you're into Tolkien or tokin'. This softer, subtler tack—compared to that of Mammatus' self-titled debut—still casts a potent, eldritch spell. The title track combines this mellower drift with the debut album's sprawling guitar/bass girth, attaining an expansive, spiritual aura that is usually beyond the grasp of those who throw devil horns unironically. With The Coast Explodes, Mammatus, like labelmates Om, show that ultra-heavy cats can ascend to a higher level of consciousness—bong-assisted or not.

Curb Your Cynicism is a recurring blogtastic feature in which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Monotract
Trueno Oscuro
(Load)
Release date: April 24, 2007

Imagine the surly tempers of motorists inching along in bumper-to-bumper traffic on one of Orange County's gorgeous highways. Distill that fury into a three-piece band in a studio, and you have a general idea of the aural mayhem and vein-busting tension wrought on Monotract's Trueno Oscuro.

If you're familiar with Load Records (and if not, what are you waiting for?), then you'll have an inkling about Monotract's aesthetics. This Providence, Rhode Island label has been one of the world's foremost sources of noise-rock/ambient dread/psychedelic POW POW POW for 14 years. That being said, Monotract—Nancy Garcia (guitar), Carlos Giffoni (electronics), and Roger Rimada (drums)—are one of Load's more nuanced acts. Which means that they obliterate song form with a high degree of finesse and even conceive tunes that you can occasionally whistle through gritted teeth. But when the time comes to drop the 9-ton shit hammer of hertz, Monotract do so with pitiless guile. Not only that, but they put the hiss in catharsis. Remember that when you're ensnared in your next traffic tie-up.

Dan Deacon
Spiderman of the Rings
(Carpark)
Release date: May 8, 2007

Starting your album with layered samples of Woody Woodpecker's laugh over delicately plucked thumb piano and cheap analog synth progressions that Styx might've discarded for being too pompous is ballsy. But that's how Baltimore solo artist Dan Deacon rolls on Spiderman of the Rings, and it's a real ear-grabber of an intro. The disc goes on to burst with effervescent electronic pop that simultaneously inflates itself to ridiculously self-important dimensions and undercuts that seriousness with warped, helium-ized vocals and squonkily tuned keyboards. Deacon's music's schizo, but fun with it.

It says here that Deacon's a "classically trained composer with a Masters degree in electro-acoustic composition." And you can hear a higher degree of finesse and complexity in his work than you usually do in most other indietronica releases. But, to reiterate, this academic know-how is balanced by a loopy sense of melodic tomfoolery that launches Deacon's music way out of the observatory and into the rowdy house party of your mind.

It wouldn't surprise me at all to see Deacon soon go on tour opening for Girl Talk; this madcap savant has that much thizzing mojo animating his grandiose-gestured synth symphonies. But then a track like "Big Milk" will come on, with its tender xylophone-and-analog-synth-burble gamelan fantasia, and you're suddenly transported to a swinging hammock in Bali. Utterly lovely.

Spiderman of the Rings is as optimistic as a grade-schooler on the first day of summer who's just heard "Good Vibrations" for the first time. I'd say many of us could use a daily dosage of this album for the next couple of years of Rove/Cheney/Bush rule.

Dinosaur Jr.
Beyond
(Fat Possum)
Release date: May 1, 2007

J Mascis and Lou Barlow settle their long-running beef and record a damned solid Dinosaur Jr. album with original drummer Murph... for Fat Possum Records? In 2007? Yeah, right. Put down the crackpipe, junior. Oh, shit, it's true. Reality just done sucker-punched your desperately trying not to be skeptical correspondent.

Right from opener "Almost Ready"'s confident surge of patented, fuzz-toned Dino rock, ye olde Massachusetts power trio slam you back to their near-peak 1988-91 form. Beyond is not quite as explosive and sublime as Dinosaur and You're Living All Over Me, but it does recapture the mellow power and rugged hookiness of Bug and Green Mind. Mascis' voice has aged incredibly well, its East Coast Neil Youngian drawl as poignant as ever. Furthermore, his guitar prowess hasn't diminished a whit. He's still got that rococo whine and growl thing going—no need to mess with such a successful approach. Beyond's 11 songs (nine by J, two by Lou) are like revisiting old high-school friends who haven't changed much, but they didn't really need to change because they were already dependable, lovable lugs.

Most rock-band reunions are tragicomic farces, but with Beyond, Dinosaur Jr. restore some dignity and quality control to this (justifiably) much-scoffed-at practice.

Dinosaur Jr. play The Troubadour May 11-13.

In which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Mikkel Metal
Brone and Wait
(Echochord; available through Forced Exposure)
Release date: April 17, 2007

Mikkel Metal (Copenhagen producer Mikkel Meldgaard) takes his nom de musique from his predilection for banging, metallic drum & bass tracks. But around 1999, he shifted his angle of attack to techno's more aerodynamic 4/4 rhythms. His handiwork in this style can be found on several releases for the mighty Kompakt and the up-and-coming Echochord imprints. Brone and Wait is Mikkel's third album and is a fine place to enter his deep sound world. The disc is a godsend for those mourning the absence of Germany's Chain Reaction label (has it really been seven years since Fluxion's Vibrant Forms II came out? Jebus). What this means is that Mikkel Metal is skilled in the ways of aquatic atmospheres and bass frequencies redolent of Kingston, Jamaica's dopest dub studios. He peddles a patient, methodical sort of techno that's more conducive to exploring your inner thought processes than it is for moving your ass to. I don't even like to smoke pot, but I find myself reflexively craving a big ol' spliff by the time track 4 (the awesomely hypnotic "Nexxer") kicks in. Oh, dear, don't tell the DEA about this album. They would never stand for it...

Elsewhere on Brone and Wait, Mikkel threads a pensive guitar motif through a stark, stoic techno trellis ("Exraster"); introduces finger-snaps and sandpaper rustle to enhance a dubby techno sashay that exhorts you to chill the hell out ("Sala"); creates the ultimate cracklin', static-kling-klang tribute to Pole ("Krudina"); and takes dubbalicious ambience to the Arctic Circle for a spindrift ("Conceal"). Overall, this album does a magnificent job of propelling you out of your Orange County state of mind. Don't tell me you can't benefit from such an excursion once in a while.

In which the music editor pithily enthuses about new releases and reissues he thinks will enhance your life and erode your cynicism about the state of music, circa now.

Black Moth Super Rainbow
Dandelion Gum
(Graveface; graveface.com)
Release date: May 15, 2007

That band name; that album title; that CD cover. They all scream PSYCHEDELIC in boldfaced caps. And that's largely what you get with Dandelion Gum, although the psych-pop peregrinations that animate it are actually more subtle than I'm leading you to believe. The pervasive mood here is more "Strawberry Fields Forever" than "Purple Haze." Black Moth Super Rainbow's track titles also illustrate their aesthetic: "Lollipopsichord," "Jump Into My Mouth and Breathe the Stardust," "The Sun Grows on Your Tongue," "Neon Syrup for the Cemetery Sisters," "Drippy Eye," etc. The press release states, with a straight face: "Dandelion Gum is a loosely based concept record about witches who make candy in the forest." Not another one of those...

These Western Pennsylvanians are whimsical, but not nauseatingly so, as many of this ilk can be too twee for words. Instead, Black Moth Super Rainbow inject enough distorted vocals and acutely fx'd flutes and wobbly-warbly keyboards into their morphing, lava-lamp-goo pop-song structures to keep the music lysergically weird. I'm reminded of trippy, proto-electronic cult bands like Silver Apples and Tonto's Expanding Head Band—lofty company indeed. With media attention from Pitchfork, Rolling Stone, NY Times, and MTV, it seems likely these gentle eccentrics will attain buzz-band status, but even if they don't, their music will surely induce a nice one in receptive minds.