jueves, diciembre 08, 2011

Esto lo estoy tocando mañana #19 - Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band (1982)


Jazz had always been an influence on the Captain. Charles Mingus probably affected his conception of bass and pulse among other things (and Mingus' 1961 classic "Oh Yeah" is an idiosyncratic take on the blues not dissimilar to Don's own take circa the Strictly Personal album). Thelonious Monk's fragmented, kicking rhythms were undoubtedly an influence on Don's own unique rhythms (which in my opinion are his most precious musical asset). Ornette Coleman and Roland Kirk, among others, influenced Don's view of music. When I hear this record, I'm reminded of these influences - particularly Monk and Mingus - not because the Magic Band ends up playing "jazz" in any conventional sense (this is still rock as much as anything else), but because I hear Don moving closer towards those influences in his compositions and in these performances.


Scott McFarland

(Complete on


domingo, diciembre 04, 2011

Porque me siento rara vol.32 - An Afflicted Man's Musica Box

Considered as one of the best United Dairies compilations and Steven Stapleton’s favorite U.D. release, An Afflicted Man’s reads like a sampler from the NWW list. Featuring : Foetus In Your Bed, Operating Theatre ( Roger Doyle), and Steve’s krautrock faves Anima, it’s highlights include a triumphant, shortwave drenched roar from AMM (who let Steve choose a piece from their enormous backlog of tapes), the massed orchestral march of Jacques Berrocal’s “Conseil Des Ministries,” and the ominous drift of Nurse With Wound’s “I Was No Longer His Dominant”. In other words an excellent modern classical, industrial, abstract, experimental compilation. An Afflicted Man’s Musica Box came out on United Dairies ( UD 012) in 1982 under 3 different covers, limited to a total of 1500 copies (not to speak of the 2 tape releases).

(Original post in a great blog: http://433rpm.blogspot.com/2011/11/afflicted-mans-musica-box-lp-united.html)


viernes, noviembre 04, 2011

Wasserman - the beach dream (2011)

Electronic / Experimental / Abstract / Drone


domingo, octubre 30, 2011

Esto lo estoy tocando mañana #18 - Instant Composers Pool (1971)


[...] This album is much more like the acclaimed Topography of the Lungs release from roughly the same era, and in fact that album's three participants are all on hand here: Derek Bailey playing electric guitar with a tone that will make listeners want to raid the fridge, Evan Parker demonstrating how to play frantically and subtly at the same time, and Han Bennink approximating a windstorm on percussion, all fairly well recorded for this period. Mengelberg is also more on the case than he often is in these types of settings -- he uses space, but does more than just sit back smoking and watching the others freaking out. Paul Rutherford is great on trombone, and so is the drummer's underrated brother Peter Bennink on both dangerously addled alto saxophone and preposterous bagpipe. [...]

Eugene Chadbourne

(Complete on http://www.allmusic.com/album/groupcomposing-r629452/review)


lunes, octubre 24, 2011

Porque me siento rara vol.31 - Dirty Beaches

Rusty relics pulled from the depths, Dirty Beaches’ bruised beats chime like some deadened lullabies calling out from inside a canyon. Close to the desolate forest fluster of Arch M, Taiwan/Hawaii/Toronto/Montreal native Alex Zhang Hungtai’s coarse concrète samples are biting blocks, like some ‘gull sticking its beak in on Yellow Swans’ rotting carcass. Released via Fixture (Omon Ra, Postcards) Hungtai’s otherworldly follow-up to Old Blood, Horror, suitably picks away at the senses like a baby porpoise pining at you from an oil slick stricken shore.

(No Pain In Pop)


sábado, septiembre 17, 2011

Esto lo estoy tocando mañana #17 - Lou Donaldson (1958)

Lou Donaldson's undisputed masterpiece, Blues Walk, marks the point where the altoist began to decisively modify his heavy Charlie Parker influence and add a smoky, bluesy flavor of his own. The material is still firmly in the bebop vein, and the mellower moments aren't as sleepy as some of Donaldson's subsequent work, so the album sounds vital and distinctive even as it slows down and loosens things up.

Steve Huey


domingo, agosto 21, 2011

Porque me siento rara vol.30 - Kiku Day & Henry Kaiser


Berkeley-based experimental guitarist Henry Kaiser has gained a justified reputation for his eclectic tastes and the way that he fuses his influences into an idiosyncratic guitar style. He began playing the guitar after listening to seminal free-improv guitarist Derek Bailey and has a deep knowledge of the Grateful Dead's musical journeys, as well as the 1970s electric-era of Miles Davis, as documented in the three volumes of his Yo Miles! band with trumpeter Wadada Leo Smith. He also has a keen interest in musical traditions from around the world, as his musical tours to Madagascar and Norway with fellow-guitarist David Lindley testify. Tokyo-born and Copenhagen-based, Kiku Day studied the ji-nashi shakuhachi—the bamboo flute that is so identified with Zen Buddhism in Japan---and later improvisation with Joëlle Léandre and Fred Frith, with whom she recorded his dance piece The Happy End Problem (Fred Records, 2007). She first collaborated with Kaiser on Domo Arigato Derek-Sensei! (Balance Point Acoustics, 2006), his heartfelt tribute to the late Bailey. [...]



martes, agosto 16, 2011

Esto lo estoy tocando mañana #16 - John Zorn (1983)

This captures over an hour's worth of John Zorn's search for the improvised song form. Several lineups from 1983 are documented here. The first eight tracks feature Zorn with Christian Marclay spinning and Peter Blegvad speaking. The text is unremarkable (for example, Honey-Cab's "...tell her everything I know/ In ink as black as carbon/ On paper white as snow"), but Blegvad's sonorous delivery works well with the chaos that the other two musicians spit and spin out, combining into tides of noisy mischief. Tracks 9-15 find Zorn with Arto Lindsay providing lyrics and guitar, and Anton Fier on drums. Zorn squawks and spurts an array of sounds, from birdcall to babydoll. M.E. Miller replaces Fier on drums for the next set, which features a driving rock beat. This is followed by eight pieces from Zorn, Wayne Horvitz, and Ikue Mori. The final fifth of the album captures the walloping interplay of Zorn, Miller, and turntablist Whiz Kid. Overall, an album of short, angular, experimental energy tracks.

Joslyn Layne


lunes, agosto 08, 2011

Rectum - die meer der tränen (2011)

Noise / Drone / Abstract


sábado, julio 30, 2011

Esto lo estoy tocando mañana #15 - Chicago Underground Duo (2000)

Synesthesia, the second release from the Chicago Underground Duo, is a stark departure from the sound cultivated in the group’s first recording, 12 Degrees of Freedom. The new release from Rob Mazurek (Isotope 217) and Chad Taylor (Sam Prekop Band) utilizes electronics, found sound, moog and studio manipulations, adding elements that make Synesthesia not just a jazz record, but a release that shuns categorization in any particular genre.

(Complete on Thrill Jockey Records Site)

Flac #1
Flac #2

lunes, julio 11, 2011

Porque me siento rara vol.29 - Position Normal


[...] Other characters who pop out of the jack-in-the-box include a surly green grocer, a concerned aunt who leaves a phone message for her niece, and groups of jubilant kids singing about their dancing fingers. Sampled music from children's records and television shows from the '60s and '70s play a prominent role, and that entails lots of whistles, horns, and garden variety percussion, as well as occasional noodling from a cheap guitar. [...]



domingo, mayo 29, 2011

Esto lo estoy tocando mañana #14 - Christine Sehnaoui (2007)


El disc de solo de la saxofonista de París d’origen libanès Christine Sehnaoui amaga un cert misteri ["SOLO", Olof Bright, 2007]. 30 minuts de sons aquàtics, ofegats, harmònics imperceptibles, harmonies ocultes, soroll blanc, rosa i gris pausats amb respiracions. Hi ha algú sota l’aigua que intenta dir alguna cosa. El saxofonista suec Mats Gustafsson diu que Sehnaoui fa música electrònica amb un instrument acústic. I de fet, escoltant la gravació la dimensió que adquireix la seva tècnica musical – el seu buf – és sorprenent i intensa com ho podria ser una sessió de música electroacústica.

(El que passa dins de la boca; complete on http://christineabdelnoursehnaoui.jimdo.com/discography/solo/)


lunes, abril 11, 2011

Porque me siento rara vol.28 - Andrew Pekler


Andrew Pekler was born in the Soviet Union, grew up in California and currently lives in Berlin, Germany. He has previous releases on the Scape and Staubgold labels. (...) 

Entanglements In The Orthopedic Sensorium began as a knitting together of unused odds and ends scattered across Pekler's hard drives, combining sketched recordings, unfinished ideas, previously unreleased material and soundtracks for theatre and dance. Despite the odds-and-ends background somewhere down the line this four-track album became something absorbingly well-executed. One of the first things to strike you about the record is how much it sounds as if it's been excavated from some library archive; in fact, within the breadth of a single composition Pekler juggles retro soundtrack-like fodder, early-electronics styled synthesis and tape cutting techniques. Moreover, there's a sense of dreamlike disrupted narrative that's perhaps not too distant a cousin from Broadcast & The Focus Group's Witch Cults Of The Radio Age album, almost inevitably bringing to mind all those buzzwords like 'hypnogogic' and 'hauntological', yet not without good cause.


domingo, abril 03, 2011

He visto morir... (Roberto Arlt)

Las 5 menos 3 minutos. Rostros afanosos tras de las rejas. Cinco menos 2. Rechina el cerrojo y la puerta de hierro se abre. Hombres que se precipitan como si corrieran a tomar el tranvía. Sombras que dan grandes saltos por los corredores iluminados. Ruidos de culatas. Más sombras que galopan.
Todos vamos en busca de Severino Di Giovanni para verlo morir.

La letanía.

Espacio de cielo azul. Adoquinado rústico. Prado verde. Una como silla de comedor en medio del prado. Tropa. Máuseres. Lámparas cuya luz castiga la obscuridad. Un rectángulo. Parece un ring. El ring de la muerte. Un oficial.
“..de acuerdo a las disposiciones… por violación del bando… ley número…”
El oficial bajo la pantalla enlozada. Frente a él, una cabeza. Un rostro que parece embadurnado en aceite rojo. Unos ojos terribles y fijos, barnizados de fiebre. Negro círculo de cabezas.
Es Severino Di Giovanni. Mandíbula prominente. Frente huída hacia las sienes como la de las panteras. Labios finos y extraordinariamente rojos. Frente roja. Mejillas rojas. Ojos renegridos por el efecto de luz. Grueso cuello desnudo. Pecho ribeteado por las solapas azules de la blusa. Los labios parecen llagas pulimentadas. Se entreabren lentamente y la lengua, más roja que un pimiento, lame los labios, los humedece. Ese cuerpo arde en temperatura. Paladea la muerte.
“..artículo número…ley de estado de sitio… superior tribunal… visto… pásese al superior tribunal… de guerra, tropa y suboficiales…”
Di Giovanni mira el rostro del oficial. Proyecta sobre ese rostro la fuerza tremenda de su mirada y de la voluntad que lo mantiene sereno.
“..estamos probando… apercíbase al teniente… Rizzo Patrón, vocales… tenientes coroneles… bando… dése copia… fija número…”
Di Giovanni se humedece los labios con la lengua. Escucha con atención, parece que analizara las cláusulas de un contrato cuyas estipulaciones son importantísimas. Mueve la cabeza con asentimiento, frente a la propiedad de los términos con que está redactada la sentencia.
“..Dése vista al ministro de Guerra… sea fusilado… firmado, secretario…”

Habla el Reo.

-Quisiera pedirle perdón al teniente defensor…
Una voz: -No puede hablar. Llévenlo.
El condenado camina como un pato. Los pies aherrojados con una barra de hierro a las esposas que amarran las manos. Atraviesa la franja de adoquinado rústico. Algunos espectadores se ríen. ¿Zoncera? ¿Nerviosidad? ¡Quien sabe!.
El reo se sienta reposadamente en el banquillo. Apoya la espalda y saca pecho. Mira arriba. Luego se inclina y parece, con las manos abandonadas entre las rodillas abiertas, un hombre que cuida el fuego mientras se calienta agua para tomar el mate.
Permanece así cuatro segundos. Un suboficial le cruza una soga al pecho, para que cuando los proyectiles lo maten no ruede por tierra. Di Giovanni gira la cabeza de derecha a izquierda y se deja amarrar.
Ha formado el blanco pelotón de fusilero. El suboficial quiere vendar al condenado. Éste grita:
-Venda no.
Mira tiesamente a los ejecutores. Emana voluntad. Si sufre o no, es un secreto. Pero permanece así, tieso, orgulloso.
Surge una dificultad. El temor al rebote de las balas hace que se ordena a la tropa, perpendicular al pelotón fusilero, retirarse unos pasos.
Di Giovanni permanece recto, apoyada la espalda en el respaldar. Sobre su cabeza, en una franja de muralla gris, se mueven piernas de soldados. Saca pecho. ¿Será para recibir las balas?
-Pelotón, firme. Apunten.
La voz del reo estalla metálica, vibrante:
-¡Viva la anarquía!
Resplandor subitáneo. Un cuerpo recio se ha convertido en una doblada lámina de papel. Las balas rompen la soga. El cuerpo cae de cabeza y queda en el pasto verde con las manos tocando las rodillas.
Fogonazo del tiro de gracia.


Las balas han escrito la última palabra en el cuerpo del reo. El rostro permanece sereno. Pálido. Los ojos entreabiertos. Un herrero a los pies del cadáver. Quita los remaches del grillete y de la barra de hierro. Un médico lo observa. Certifica que el condenado ha muerto. Un señor, que ha venido de frac y zapatos de baile, se retira con la galera en la coronilla. Parece que saliera del cabaret. Otro dice una mala palabra.
Veo cuatro muchachos pálidos como muertos y desfigurados que se muerden los labios; son: Gauna, de La Razón, Álvarez de Última hora, Enrique Gonzáles Tuñón, de Crítica y Gómez, de El Mundo. Yo estoy como borracho. Pienso en los que se reían. Pienso que a la entrada de la penitenciaría debería ponerse un cartel que rezara:
-Está prohibido reírse.
-Está prohibido concurrir con zapatos de baile.

[de "Aguafuertes Porteñas"]

Severino Di Giovanni. Foto de prontuario después de la detención en el Teatro Colón. 

sábado, marzo 12, 2011

Esto lo estoy tocando mañana #13 - David S. Ware (1978)

David S. Ware was born in Plainfield, New Jersey, on November 7, 1949. His early love of music was nurtured by some dedicated teachers at the Scotch Plains-Fanwood High School. He began his saxophone career on alto, and then switched to baritone, before finally settling on the tenor as his musical voice. "I had played in all the school bands, the whole way through junior high and high school : marching band, concert band, dance band and orchestras." As a teen David was an ardent admirer of Sonny Rollins and struck up a relationship with the elder tenor player after seeing him countless times in the mid-'60s at the Five Spot and the Village Vanguard. The two practiced together intermittently in the '70s in Rollins' Brooklyn apartment; it was Rollins who taught young Ware the art of circular breathing in 1966.

(Complete on http://www.aumfidelity.com/david-s-ware.html)


sábado, febrero 26, 2011

Canto nupcial (título provisorio) (Susana Thénon)

me he casado
me he casado conmigo
me he dado el sí
un sí que tardó años en llegar
años de sufrimientos indecibles
de llorar con la lluvia
de encerrarme en la pieza
porque yo -el gran amor de mi existencia-
no me llamaba
no me escribía
no me visitaba
y a veces
cuando juntaba yo el coraje de llamarme
para decirme: hola ¿estoy bien?
yo me hacía negar
llegué incluso a escribirme en una lista de clavos
a los que no quería conectarme
porque daban la lata
porque me perseguían
porque me acorralaban
porque me reventaban
al final ni disimulaba yo
cuando yo me requería
me daba a entender
que me tenía podrida
y una vez dejé de llamarme
y dejé de llamarme
y pasó tanto tiempo que me extrañé
entonces dije
¿cuánto hace que no me llamo?
debe de hacer añares
y me llamé y atendí yo y no podía creerlo
porque aunque parezca mentira
no había cicatrizado
solo me había ido en sangre
entonces me dije: hola ¿soy yo?
soy yo, me dije, y añadí:
hace muchísimo que no sabemos nada
yo de mí ni mí de yo
¿quiero venir a casa?
sí, dije yo
y volvimos a encontrarnos
con paz
yo me sentía bien junto conmigo
igual que yo
que me sentía bien junto conmigo
y así
de un día para el otro
me casé y me casé
y estoy junto
y ni la muerte puede separarme

martes, enero 18, 2011

Porque me siento rara vol.27 - Tristan Perich

Tristan Perich is a contemporary composer and sound artist from New York City focused on electronic one bit sound.
Perich composed a series of compositions as well as sound art installations with 1 bit electronics, which Perich describes as being music that never has more than one bit of information being played at any given time. In Denmark he was an artist in residence, where he built a series of sculptures called Interval Studies consisting of large amounts of small speakers all sending out their own frequency. The blending of all of these independent frequencies caused a white noise, or other forms of colored noise. Other works by him include Machine Drawings and 1-bit Video.