Various Artists
Nuclear Blast Festivals 2000
Nuclear Blast

Links:
In Flames

Europe always has killer festivals year round with tons of bands. I've always been quite jealous--we don't get many festivals in Florida. Most people can't handle the heat, look at the football players dropping from it. Just imagine, throngs of metalheads in black leather and denim in 99-percent humidity and 100 degrees in the shade. I can just picture the glare off the spikes as they glitter between the turkey vulture's teeth in the hot sun.

Imagine my joy when I'm offered at the bargain-basement price of $9.98 Nuclear Blast Festivals 2000 featuring the best live tracks culled from the various Nuclear Blast artists featured in tours and festivals worldwide. You get 77 minutes of live gems from Raise Hell, Kataklysm, Hypocrisy, Destruction and Crematory. Just in case, you have been oblivious to the past reviews of these artists works, I am here to guide you to the best in Nuclear Blast entertainment.

I'm a little biased, but Hypocrisy is best, featuring four high voltage tracks--"Fractured Millenium," "Elastic Inverted Visions," "Legions Descend" and "Fire in the Sky." Raise Hell, also from Sweden, jolt your spine with their fast, thrash metal. Canada's Kataklysm is the only representative from North America and blow the continent away with a trio of black metal tracks. Germany presents both the mighty Destruction, thrash kings extraordinaire, and the sadly departed Crematory. I wished it was a live DVD, once again, but you get the audio equivalent of a festival without the smelly, claustrophobic, viral atmosphere of a festival.

-Sabrina Haines
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The opener of Bella Maniera, "Allegro Vivace," swells into existence like a modern European orchestral composition. With scattered stabs of brass and the tinkling of piano keys around a chaotic and tumultuous melody (which reminds me a great deal of a number of pieces from a few years ago that were attempts to recreate the fire-bombing of Dresden or the destruction of Guernica), the piece is grounded and propelled along at a rapid pace by the thundering rumble of bass line--which is exactly why the piece is subtitled "Drum 'n' Bass for Grand Orchestra."

Bella Maniera is filled with these odd juxtapositions; compositional creations that are neither classical nor electronic nor simple rock or techno, but structured masses of all three. "Nairobi 2061" begins with industrial and natural elements: the whistle of steam pipes commingling with the progress of water across worn rocks, blended together as an underlying accompaniment to an organ's sad lament. "Fibonacci Dub" would not be out of place on any Laswell-produced album, its rumbling dub echoing beneath a chirping melody. "Terminal Beach" crafts itself around the simple spoken line which separate its halves: "the landscape is coded." And "Homage a Morton F." slips gently past the listener, an introspective appreciation of the minimalism of Morton Feldman's work. Koschka, diving willfully into the mindset of the manierist composer, crafts pieces that defy conventional categorization in their chaotic and vibrant juxtaposition of styles and sounds.

-Mark Teppo
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Links:
Love as Laughter

On this one, the Seattle-via-Issaquah, Washington, trio (whittled down from the quintet that took form in '99) offer condensed, wishing-for-airplay singles such as the crashing, celebratory "Coast to Coast," and the frenetic "My Case," downtrodden, acoustic sing-a-longs "Sam Jayne = Dead" and "Miss Direction," and winding guitar-powered long players "Put It Together" and "E.H." There is a definite sense of outward growth within the Love As Laughter mini-universe. This loosely connected rock 'n roll collective, which has seen a constant flow of different members through three full-length albums, not including the primarily solo launch The Greks Bring Gifts, gains steam as ringleader Jayne continues to grow as a songwriter. They sculpt an ever-developing sound that holds onto past formulas--reckless punk, unabashed at-home noodling, loud and distorted pop--and concoct something fresh and interesting out of them. This cross-country rock journey is both nostalgic and prescient: a prideful shot in the arm for all the do-it-yourselfers holed up in their bedrooms laboring over 8-track recorders.

-Dan Cullity
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Ah, but the words I should be thinking are: "Arctic, empty places." Lost on a decaying schooner, haunted by the frozen ghosts of the mariners who perished during a long ice-locked voyage, I am surrounded by white, surrounded by the constant envelope of snow and mist and pure nothingness. Of definite interest to fans of dark ambient soundscapes, Isfet should be put on your shelf next to Benny Nilsen's work as Morthound or Hazard and Peter Andersson's work as Raison D'Etre or Necrophorus or Mick Harris' work as Lull. Let's even throw in the dark ambient standard: Brian Lustmord's Where the Black Stars Hang. Isfet fits nicely beside any of these.

Filled with radio echoes rebounded back from the ionosphere, the crackling of ice, and the drifting sounds that snow makes as it stealthily creeps across the empty landscape, Isfet begins with a suite entitled "Ma At." You are lost in a world of towering icebergs, wrapped by cold, drifting fog. There is the tinkling sound of ice as sheets of it drift against one another. The wind scours the flat surface of the ice and the long wave patterns perpetuated across these plans have resonate overtones that ring and ring in your head. There are disembodied voices that rise up around you--are they the cries of aimless ghosts still trapped in the cold wilderness or lost transmissions that haven't found their way out of the ionosphere?

The sounds haunt you, teasing you with the hope that you aren't alone, that you aren't completely lost. As the "Pykissa" suite evolves, a dread realization creeps into your skull: everything around you is a product of the dementia which has consumed your brain. You imagine (or maybe it is real and you've found it buried in the ice) a radio receiver and you frantically spin the dial, searching for some solid signal--some contact with the real world beyond the white barrier--and what you find is static across all channels. You sweep the bands endlessly, the signal growing weaker as you get colder and colder and your brain begins to slowly shut down. There is no respite--no boat or plane coming to your rescue--you are lost in the ice. You are lost forever.

-Mark Teppo
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Links:
Nikka Costa

Needless to say when I was finished viewing this amazing piece of musical eye candy I instantly found myself searching the aisles of my favorite music dungeon in search of the CD from which it came. The ever so helpful trolls milled about trying to make themselves useful but their assistance wouldn't be needed today I was hooked and all Nikka was doing now was reeling me in. An hour or so later I returned home with two CDs: Nikka "where's my socks" Costa and Craig David. Quicker than you could say "shrink wrap" I had it removed and the CD spinning in my player, headphones on, volume cranked. I was fully expecting to be dancing all over the place, and for almost four minutes this was the case, and then reality crashed the party.

Nikka Costa's Everybody Got Their Something is a mystical voyage, a glimpse into the soul of Costa, not an aerobic or dance floor soundtrack. This well crafted spiritual journey is where we find her brash, confident, and highflying one moment ("Like a Feather"); and introspective, contemplative, and forgiving of a mother who lacked confidence in her the next ("As I Have for You"). From the thumpy, futuristic, and dark sounds of "Tug of War," to the Parliament horn-styled, foot-stomping tent revival of "Hope It Felt Good" (complete with a Janis Joplin-like soul-wrenching vocal performance), musically and emotionally Everybody Got Their Something is all over the place...and yet, it works. When captured appropriately and artfully the human experience, like a rainbow, is beautiful to see--and this is just one example.

-Cecil Beatty-Yasutake
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"Mother of Pearl" opens the proceedings here, in the unlikely event you missed it on The Museum of Imaginary Animals. Now, with repeated listenings, all those reviews with convoluted metaphors involving Mary Poppins and pearl-forming snails start to make more sense. Though never loathe to drop a mean bossa rhythm, Pram don't make you snap you fingers or tap your foot so much as invent silly choreography meant for Julie Andrews and a dozen cartoon animals. Yup, it's all rather strange, and it gets weirder still since the lyrics are about snails--all part of the Pram's child-like musical landscape of phantasmagoria and affectation.

Three other songs from Museum... have found their way to this EP. "A Million Bubbles Burst" is remixed by Sir Real, who must have been listening to a lot of BjÖrk at the time he was working on this song. "Play of the Waves" is taken completely apart by Balky Mule, known to his family as Sam Jones and to us as one of guys in Crescent. Plone treats Pram with more respect and is arguably more successful with his remix of "Bewitched," which he turns into '70s synth-kitsch despite retaining a good deal of the original. And finally, the remixes of two venerable oldies, "The Last Astronaut" and "Omnichord," are also included here, though only for the benefit of the completists since, frankly, they're awful.

The three new songs make some gesture of redress. The instrumental "The Way of the Mongoose" stumbles along samples of exotica detritus for a good two minutes, but regains its bearings quite gracefully and even works a mean groove. Pram tends to be a polite bunch and rarely bear their teeth, so the mongoose is quite welcome. "Monkeypuzzle" is equally brash though nothing new for the band. The irony of it all is that you're more likely to dance to Pram plain and simple than to the razzle-dazzle remixes of the DJs here assembled.

So, save yourself the trouble with Somniloquy and go straight for two domestic full-lengths, move on to the imports, and once you've digested them all go on to buy the t-shirts.

-Edgar Ortega
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Links:
Reducers SF

-Steve Weatherholt
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Links:
To Rococo Rot
I-Sound

Anchored by Stefan Schneider's bass lines and corralled by Craig Williamson's cut-up manifesto, Robert and Ronald Lippok weave their electronic melodies in the graceful space between the dark and the light, making songs that will never burn up a dance floor nor become elegiac reminders of a simpler childhood, but rather their songs fill the moments of our daily lives when we have a chance to disconnect from the monotony. "From Dream to Daylight" includes the soaring violin work of Alexander Balanescu and, amidst the distant sound of passing cars and popping asphalt and humming power lines, emerges a sonic daydream of a man riding public transportation yet yearning for the day when he can own his own vehicle and drive not just on the city streets but out of the city and into the country.

It's not just about being haunted, you see, Music Is a Hungry Ghost is all about finding grace and hope in a sterile, mechanized world. There is warmth and humor and life to be found in the electronic detritus that machines produce and Williamson (I-Sound) and the lads of To Rococo Rot have the same yearnings as we do: they want to be engaged and inspired by their world and not held down by its weight. There is a claustrophobic menace to the sound of this record, but that is simply what provides the shadows which enhance the edges of the record.

-Mark Teppo
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Links:
Take Action Tour
The Hopeline Network

Okay, there are three reasons everyone should pick this album up and get behind Plea for Peace:

1. The cost. I picked mine up from Seattle's Easy Street Records for $5.99. The album has 28 songs. That's about 21.5 cents per song. Find me a better deal.

2. The music. The first couple of tracks might get you thinking that this is mostly a SoCal mix of punk, but look again and listen on. Excellent tracks by Cave In, Swingin' Utters, Thursday, At the Drive-In, True Sounds of Liberty, and The (International) Noise Conspiracy (to name but a few). My personal fav's here are actually the songs that veer away from punk, like the Devo-esque swing of Atom and His Package with "Wonderman (Hammer Smashed Ball)," the lo-fi electronic feel and lush female vocals on Zero Zero's "Hello, How Are You," and Mike Park's folk punk "Can You Get Me Out of Here," which closes the album.

And in case you didn't know, it's Mike Park's Asian Man Records, along with Sub City, that is responsible for this gem--and it's both Park and Sub City's selfless commitment to righteous causes such as Ska Against Racism, this here Plea for Peace, and many others which, since their inceptions (1996 and 1999, respectively) have donated a combined total of over $85,000, that brings us to reason number three for getting behind this.

3. The cause. Through its releases, magazine, and tour, Plea for Action's mission is to reach out to troubled youth by providing them with the resources and knowledge to overcome many of the pressures and problems they face day-to-day. 15 percent of the artists' revenue brought in from the tour and the CD will go to charities--five percent to certified local crisis centers (check Sub City's website for a full listing), and 10 percent to the Kristin Brooks Hope Center and its National Hopeline Network 1-800-Suicide. A suicide prevention center that works with community-based services to help with issues that include abuse, neglect, drug dependency, depression, and suicide by offering confidential services and counseling, the NHN is striving to help increase awareness surrounding these youth problems by raising it to the national level.

Which is, most importantly, why you should pick up this album, and why you should attend the tour (dates available on both labels' websites) and let your voice and your support be heard. I can't think of a better cause, better music, or a better price. These are your friends--this is your tribe. Stand up and be counted.

-Craig Young
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Links:
Twisted Sister

Funny thing, my sister is, and has been for a long time been, devoutly religious--like coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs Jesus kinda religious--and there's no way I could get away with playing this type of music in her presence these days. I never could figure out what happened to her...

Anyway, Ozzy and Judas beget Motley Crüe, which beget the likes of Quiet Riot and Twisted Sister. I never really got into any one of those last three bands. By that time I was held-over-heels for the likes of the Minutemen and other '80s punk heroes. Twisted Sister, with their garish makeup and Flashdance attire, looked really silly. I mean, really silly. At least the New York Dolls could wear dresses with a bit of panache. At the time, Twisted Sister frontman Dee Snider just looked like the bastard child of Courtney Love and The Hulk. (Granted, Love wasn't around then, but you get the idea.)

So, I kind of laughed when I heard about a Twisted Sister tribute album. But I gotta say, after listening to others redo their songs, those four freaks from Long Island could kick out the motherfucking rock jams! There are some metal flavor-of-the-day throwaways here, like Lit and Sevendust, but the contribution list stretches far and wide, each bringing their particular musical flavor to the table.

Motörhead blast away with "Shoot 'Em Down," Anthrax slow their manic-metal way down with "Destroyer," Kings of black metal Cradle of Filth offer up a tasty version of "The Fire Still Burns," Fu Manchu turn "Ride to Live (Live to Ride)" into a stoner barnstormer, Sebastian Bach comes in with "You Can't Stop Rock 'n' Roll," Joan Jett gives up a snarling rendition of the Sister anthem "We're Not Gonna Take It," and TS themselves check in with a cover of AC/DC's "Sin City." But the biggest surprise contribution here is from fellow Long Islander Chuck D., who shows up a bumpin' hip-hop version of "Wake up the Sleeping Giant." Now that's respect.

Who woulda thought? File under: turn it up!

-Craig Young
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