Links:
Nine Inch Nails

-Sabrina Wade-Haines
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-Sabrina Wade-Haines
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Jason Amm's machines have all got to be solar-powered. That is the only explanation I can think of that captures how he manages to bring such warmth and organic life out of his keyboards and samplers. They can't be driven by cold electricity because none of the thirteen tracks here speak of anything other than the sound of summer unraveling on your window ledge. These are the lost melodies of childhood--the ones that you invented while entertaining your bevy of imaginary companions or splashing in the river or walking through the back lots with your best friend. Solvent is a panacea for everything that is preternaturally making your bones creak and your blood thin. When I become just a number in the System, I want to be ground up and my digital remains dropped into an input feed on one of Jason's machines. I will return as the warm melody bubbling through a Solvent song. This is transmigration in the digital era for those who have earned the chance to evolve.

-Mark Teppo
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Today's Hip-Hop is so on the verge of getting toe-tagged it's not even funny. Much of it suffers from a social disorder known as "Keeping it real." It used to be that the phrase "Keep it real" meant be true to yourself, but in today's rap music world it would seem to mean keep it street, keep it hard-core, even if that's not who you are. Speech shows no signs of having been affected by this nasty little bug; his cheerful, socially conscious, happy-go-lucky style is just what the doctor ordered. Crank it up and smile; I did.

-Cecil Beatty-Yasutake
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The first song off the album, "Something in Your Eye," is a swift and merciless kick to the balls. As the driving rhythm section of Ash and Phil (bass and drums respectively) keeps you pinned to the ground, singer/guitarist Dave (last names...who needs last names?) spits in your face with words that burn like a lover's last kiss as she walks past you out the door. His voice here at first comes across a bit like Social Distortion's Mike Ness, but as the song progresses he finds his own vocal ground that remains uniquely his for the remainder of the album.

Gasping for air you struggle to your feet in time to get washed back under by the band's blitzkrieg attack and their second number, "The Most Beautiful Girl in America." An examination of the price of image over substance, this is Strain's newest single and it's a strong contender to sway the masses to their sound. If NME liked "Man of the Moment" so much that it named it "Single of the Week," this should do nicely in getting the band more deserved notice.

In fact, none of the songs on No Butts or Luggs do the band any disservice. They all shimmer with brilliance in both design and execution, and throughout I couldn't help but recall the specter of those aforementioned seminal punk heroes, Hüsker Dü (R.I.P.). These are all smartly wrapped time bombs waiting to explode and catch you with their hooks, melodies, and unrelenting craftsmanship. All that's missing is for bassist Ash to grow a handlebar moustache à la Greg Norton.

Word has it their live shows excel. Hope to see them play this side of the pond sometime soon! No Butts or Luggs is one of the year's best and I personally am looking forward to hearing a lot more from this band.

-Craig Young
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A few weeks ago I found myself craving some new background noise to fill in those down time hours, and since fellow staff writer Mark Teppo--Lord of all that is Ambient, Drum and Bass, Trip-Hop, and Electronica--has been too busy of late to give me a fix, I decided to find my own. After 30 minutes of prowling through the ambient CD bin, I decided to slap on the listening station headphones and let my ears do the walking. Translation: I was lost, totally out of my element, and in need of a lifeline. Someone throw me a bone here! Five CDs later I was really starting to get bent out of shape much like an addict five dollars short of getting a fix--I was well on my way to doing something desperate and stupid! I have keys to Mark's apartment and a little B&E was starting to sound real good. I mean, he'd never know; he buys like five or more CDs a week. Hell, truth be told, dear reader, Mr. Lord of all that is Ambient, Drum and Bass, Trip-Hop, and Electronica has been holding out on you and I! You see, he's easily 60 reviews behind as far as new music is concerned. Now in fairness to him, he has been busy of late with, among other things: another installment of his Christmas short story, a few scripts for Hollywood, and, well, his day job, not to mention Earpollution. This did not change the fact that I needed a fix in a bad way. Besides, you can't cut off customers 'cause you're busy, what kind of way is that to do business. When I finally stopped hyperventilating (which was apparently about the same amount of time it took the CD player to switch from disc 5 to 6) I felt an immediate wave of calm rush over me. It was an injection of the good stuff, mainlined right into the cerebral cortex by way of the ear--damn I needed that. As I stood there in total music bliss, checking out the CD's jewel case in lucky slot six I noticed it listed twelve tracks. Problem was, I could only find ten. My heart skipped a beat. I immediately started to get all jittery, like I'd had a taste and nothing more. Someone had put the wrong CD case on the shelf. Obviously whatever CD was meant to be there was...sold out!?! B&E it was, then out the corner of my eye I spotted a gremlin. I think he sensed the dark cloud hanging over me and couldn't bear to see one so young turn to a life of crime. With his help we uncovered the true identity of the disc I was listening to (he even managed to find me an unopened copy in the warehouse).

The name of this God-sent CD is Hours: Miles Away but it just as easily could be called "ice" the way it took care of my craving. I'd explain that further but I can already see my editor frantically waving me off, some metaphors are better left unexplained. It's eleven o'clock and you'd rather be anywhere than at your desk studying or watching theater of the mindless, you contemplate prowling the dark city streets. Track one "Caffeine Effect" provides the perfect soundtrack. Maybe you turn off the tube, close the book, pop on the headphones and let your mind unwind to "A forest mighty black." Acid jazz-like, downtempo grooves invade your consciousness, the walls around you disappear. The only side effects from this fix came on "Jimpster" which features vocal splattering and a mutant trumpet outburst that nearly ruined my high. Nine out of ten ain't bad for my first time, my regular pusher better come through soon or he may become obsolete.

-Cecil Beatty-Yasutake
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Links:
Vox Barbara

Dark places, these resonances swirling around us.

Utilizing sounds created from household objects (including the cat which was probably awakened from a pleasant nap to be recorded), Smith stretches, distorts, and layers these recordings into drones, clicks, dissonant howls, and breathy expansion of rusted metal. Some of the tracks suffer a bit from repetitive elements but for the most part, Smith has created an evocative drifting sonicscape which serves to demonstrate the mutability of source material and of the mutability inherent in our listening experience.

-Mark Teppo
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-Sabrina Wade-Haines
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Links:
Zen Guerrilla

-Craig Young
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