Control

Aqui se faz a ponte entre o morrer e o renascer, aqui termina o silencio.
E por aqui se aguarda, já não em silêncio.
Já falta pouco. E obrigado a todos.

Shadowplay

Por motivos pessoais, este blog encontra-se temporariamente encerrado. Voltem regularmente, não sei quando, mas as actividades serão retomadas.

Pedro

To the centre of the city where all roads meet, waiting for you
To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you
I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you
In a room with a window in the corner I found truth
In the shadowplay, acting out your own death, knowing no more
As the assassins al grouped in four lines, dancing on the floor
And with cold steel, odour on their bodies made a move to connect
But I could only stare in disbelief as the crowds all left
I did everything, everything I wanted to
I let them use you for their own ends
To the centre of the city in the night, waiting for you.

"No Boogie-Woogie Piano, Mr. Holland, otherwise The Fall will not appear."

Fiz um pacto com a prostituição para semear a desordem nas famílias

Wake Up Pretty

A Sunny Day In Glasgow - Scribble Mural Comic Journal

A Sunny Day in Glasgow’s first full-length album is an intriguing collection of dreamy, haunting pop songs and sound-sketches, its title perhaps a neat allusion to the impressionistic and transitory sound the Philadelphia-based trio debuted on their 2006 EP, C’mon, most of which is included here. As befits a family project — the band consists of a brother and two sisters — there’s an intimate, almost hermetic feel to the recording, traces of footsteps and traffic sound lingering in the mix. Lauren and Robin Daniels’ perfectly matched voices echo around brother Ben’s shimmering guitars, keys and beats as if speaking a private sibling language. While the gentle dissonance, layered vocals, and liberal use of delay bring to mind contemporaries Animal Collective, Grizzly Bear and CocoRosie, A Sunny Day in Glasgow also draws upon the shoegaze bands of the early '90s, especially Lush, Slowdive, and the Pale Saints, along with occasional nods to the fuzzed-up excesses of My Bloody Valentine or the Jesus and Mary Chain. This is a seam of influence that bands were sure to start mining sooner or later, but A Sunny Day in Glasgow do so with an assured and affectionate touch. The band also steps outside the shoegaze template with interesting results: "Number 6 Von Karman Street" is based around a gentle acid-house rhythm, recalling both 808 State and the poignant, sub-aquatic disco of Arthur Russell. On "A Mundane Phonecall to Jack Parsons" and "Our Change into Rain Is No Change at All (Talkin’ ‘Bout Us)," distorted motorik beats booms beneath percussive keyboards and precise vocals that echo Stereolab or the deliciously impersonal singing of Broadcast’s Trish Keenan. In fact, Broadcast’s presence recurs throughout the album, not only in the retro-futurist feel of the harmonies on "Things Only I Can See," but also in the spacious, radiophonic production, with its bursts of atmospheric noise and echoing, galloping drums. This, in turn, is a nod to production pioneers Joe Meek and Phil Spector, key references that confirm A Sunny Day in Glasgow’s place in the psychedelic bubblegum.

Frances May Morgan, no emusic, faz a melhor descrição para a estreia dos A Sunny Day In Glasgow em formato longo, disco dificil de descrever em palavras mas cuja audição é absolutamente necessária, sob risco de se perder algo tão intrigante, apaixonante e reconfortante como alguns dos melhores albuns dos Cocteau Twins. Chapterhouse for the 21st Century...? Welcome back, Dreampop!

Last Year's Rain Didn't Fall Quite So Hard

The Twilight Sad - Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters

Voz com carregado scottish accent e maneira folksy sublinhada pelo som intermitente de um acordeão, fica, numa primeira audição, a impressão de que Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters é apenas mais um álbum que junta os condimentos acima num caldo rock com algumas muralhas noise. Desenganem-se. O álbum estreia dos Twilight Sad é um épico cujo sotaque e maneira que nos prendem à terra da Escócia, sobem às nuvens, carregadas e frias, pintadas por pianos em repetição e guitarras em distorção e descem por montanhas esculpidas em batidas marciais, acompanhadas, nas subidas e descidas, pela voz de um arqueiro que nos atinge a alma, esse sitio abstracto que os grandes discos atingem, que os grandes músicos definem.
É por isso companhia essencial para os dias de chuva fria nesta cidade cinzenta, a fuga para as terras altas, para o verde que também os Twilight Sad não encontram em Glasgow; é neste espaço gigantesco e brutal que Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters nos abre as portas à intimidade que implica uma revisita à adolescência e é este o crossroad onde se unem post-rock Explosions in The Sky, shoegaze My Bloody Valentine e o coração dos Whipping Boy.

Why do they come when you're always raining?
Why can't they make a sound?
And seeing the other ones fall back down.

Because you're so far from home,
And you're wailing. (…)

Walking For Two Hours
by The Twilight Sad

Play Super Scalextric

The Maccabees – Colour it in

Segundo os próprios, há algo de genuinamente britânico na música dos Maccabees. Pois há. Sem ir mais atrás, porque a referência já é agregadora qb, a palavra que salta de imediato é Futureheads. O que sendo desde logo prometedor, não é esclarecimento completo – ouça-se o menos conseguido estreia dos Good Shoes; acrescente-se então, que a voz intensa de Orlando Weeks, a entrega e a atitude apaixonada da banda de South London a deixar a certeza de grandes concertos (confirma-se, Futureheads), enchem um álbum estreia a 300 à hora, sem descansar, sem abrandar, sem permitir que alguma tentação teenager pró-Libertines tenha sequer um breve esboço de oportunidade. Perdoem-se-lhes pois as borbulhas que afectam uma boa parte das letras (eu diria que faz parte), e prepare-se o mergulho; Latchmere’s got a wave machine!

Listen To Your Left Brain

From the broken pieces of Arab On Radar and Six Finger Satellite a band called The Chinese Stars was formed. Christened after the "Chinese Star Epidemic" of the early 80's which found legions of grade school kids across America armed with "shrunken" throwing stars, the band vowed to reinvent what they have already invented in their previous bands.

Desenganem-se os que após as referencias acima se puseram desde logo a pensar em mais uma variação noise-marado ou speed-desarticulado-avariado. Listen To Your Left Brain vive numa 5ª dimensão onde se vislumbra, desde laboratório com vista para bizarra pista de dança, cabeça em forma P.I.L., braços com tatuagens dos Clash e as mãos dos Les Savy Fav, um corpo em espasmos Gang of Four e pernas que se mexem a la Beastie Boys. Monstros à parte, a mim fazem-me vagamente lembrar os World Domination Enterprises; já era tempo de 2007 dar vida um objecto tão familiar/estranho e viciante como este. E sim, All the other references are none of your business. So punks, let’s dance!

To Live and Die in the Airport Lounge

My Teenage Stride - Ears Like Golden Bats
There are two ways to look at a band like My Teenage Stride. You could say they are guilty of robbing the sound of a bunch of genius bands they have no hope of ever topping, or you could say their sound is a successful synthesis of many strains of indie pop music of the last 20-plus years that ends up sounding unique and fresh. (A partial list of the bands and sounds includes Orange Juice, New Order, the Trash Can Sinatras, the Go-Betweens, the entire Sarah roster, C86, shoegaze, and the Postcard label.) On (...) Ears Like Golden Bats, the band falls somewhere in between. It's true that you can go through on a track-by-track basis and do some pretty serious trainspotting ("That Should Stand for Something" is late-period Jesus and Mary Chain, "Ears Like Golden Bats" is Josef K, "The Genie of New Jersey" is the Field Mice, to name a few spots), which can get distracting, to put it kindly. It's also true that the band has used their obvious influences well and come up with quite a few memorable songs like the propulsive "To Live and Die in the Airport Lounge," the hugely hooky "Reversal," and "We'll Meet at Emily's." In the end, strong songs like these, Jebadiah Smith's melancholy but not mopey voice, the raw and echoey production, and the band's unflagging energy amount to a free pass on the plagiarism charge this time out. – allmusic

Acrescentar a bold os Magnetic Fields e já agora os Smiths na lista de referências acima; voz a lembrar Douglas Pearce dos Death in June e a raw and echoey production de que se fala a remeter para os Shins. Vou sem hesitações pela hipotese 2; Repeat-all, diz o leitor de cd’s. That Should Stand For Something!

A New England

Jamie T - Panic Prevention

Londres, 2007.
Trafego. Cabs e autocarros vermelhos; ordas de turistas europeus. Milhões de imigrantes: orientais, indianos, muçulmanos, católicos, latinos, caribenhos.
Os putos orientais dão ares de estrelas punk com cortes de cabelo e indumentária Sex Pistols.
Vive-se depressa; come-se de pé. O Chá já não é chá, é Capuccino Starbucks bebido no metro, na rua, no escritório, nas lojas. Não há lojas de discos como havia há 10 anos; os cd’s e o vinil trocam-se nas lojas do Soho e Portobello, os sucessos do momento compram-se nas grandes cadeias. A Tower Records é uma Virgin Megastore. Não há punks em Picadilly Circus. Negros e indianos impingem jornais gratuitos ao final da tarde, mesmo antes de entrar para o metro. Tudo está cheio: os restaurantes estão cheios de gente, os teatros enchem-se e esvaziam-se depressa, nos museus há filas e pessoas que se amontoam só para dizerem que já viram o quadro do pintor, que estiveram lá.
No metro, avisos repetidos em tom grave, pedem para qualquer movimento suspeito ou objecto abandonado ser denunciado. Blade Runner. Há estações e linhas de metro encerradas, mas na teelvisão nada dizem – under Police investigation, é o motivo. Cheira a caril, a cous-cous, a falafel e teriaki, a café, a chocolate e à gordura dos hambúrgueres e pizzas americanos. Os parques, abandonados ao verde e aos corvos, parecem tristonhos, como se se tratassem agora do reflexo das nuvens cinzentas que continuam a pairar no ar. Teenagers falam das bandas sensação da semana de que escreve o NME e vestem-se como os Strokes ou como os Bravery.
Sábado à noite, Covent Garden: miúdas inglesas embebedam-se depressa e em grupo antes de engatarem um Joe Doe qualquer, não interessa etnia ou credo, ou beleza ou amor. Sexo e violência. E e crack são as drogas das ruas. Pubs e Clubs. O lixo amontoa-se à espera da manhã e dos serviços de limpeza que retiram também os mictórios portáteis.
É manhã. Portibello Road é um paraíso, uma ilha no meio de tanto buliço. Dirijo-me á Rough Trade e após dois dedos de conversa com o dono, peço o álbum de estreia do Jamie T – Panic Prevention. A chama da conversa reacende-se; saio 10 minutos depois e agora percebo que esta é a banda sonora de Londres, das ruas de Londres, do multiculturalismo de Londres, da pressa de Londres, das bebedeiras, dos gangs, dos subúrbios, do sexo. É o retrato do vazio que no retrato é cheio de pequenas-grandes histórias que desmentem o vazio. É a banda sonora da cidade que já não tem os Clash e já não conhece Billy Brag. Jamie T é um puto de 20 anos, mas não é um puto como os outros, é um génio, retratista slang que do subúrbio middle-class de Wimbledon faz a Polaroid da cidade em 2007.

No Drowned in Sound, Kev Kharas dá-lhe 10 em 10. E tem razão.

Sheila goes out with her mate stella, it gets poured all over her fella, cos shes says, man he aint no better than the next man kicking up fuss drunk, she stumbles down by a riverscreams calling london, none of us heard her coming, i guess the carpet weren't rolled out (...)

Strange Lights

Deerhunter - Cryptograms
Cryptograms is the second full-length offering from Deerhunter, and their first for Kranky. The album took almost two years to finish and was the product of emotional, physical, and financial strain on the group. The result is an album that finds the band shifting from discordant catharsis, and forming a sonic identity that completely expresses the place from which they have arrived. The album functions in part as a study in duality and the concept of the same experiences seen from two angles, present and past. The most obvious manifestation of this is in the chronological sequencing. The first half of the album was recorded first unsuccessfully in 2005. These recordings were a blur at best, wordless and bordering on psychological atrophy. The sessions failed to provide anything tangible, and were racked with technical and personal problems, including out-of-tune pianos, panic attacks, and a tape machine that seemed to fail to capture the full spectrum of ambience the band was exploring. The band returned home, having failed, and considered giving up. The idea arose to give it one last shot and exactly one year from the date of the recording of their first self-titled LP at a small studio in rural GA, they returned to that same studio and plugged in. The session resulted in the first half of the record which was recorded in one day and completely filled the reel of tape they brought with them. Cryptograms' first side begins with an introduction leading to the title track, and ends with the tape literally spinning off the end of the reel in the middle of a drone layered with bells and accordion ("Red Ink"). The second half of the record, also recorded in one day, in the November of 2005, represents the band in an entirely different state. "Spring Hall Convert" opens with the line, "...so I woke up..." and introduces a set of focused psyche-pop songs fixating on adolescence, illness, and failing connections.

Abriram para os Liars em Setembro no Porto Rio; eu não estava lá, mas se tivesse uma máquina do tempo, a viagem estava assegurada. E se parte significativa da aura que rodeava os Deerhunter até agora, resultava das quase-lendárias prestações em palco, Cryptograms confirma a substancia e o enorme potencial da banda. O disco mais essencial dos últimos meses.

Systematic abuse

The Fall - Reformation Post-TLC

Domino Jones disse quase tudo o que há para dizer acerca de Reformation Post TLC, o regresso dos Fall, na Playlouder. De resto, o que tenho lido é sempre positivo, e o texto abaixo ficaria completamente fechado se fosse dito, como se disse/escreveu frequentemente acerca dos 5 ou 6 mais recentes discos, que este é o melhor album dos Fall em muitos anos; again (and again and again and again...)

What is there left to say about The Fall? Thirty years of beer sodden bark and growl, twenty five albums of empirical belletrism, over thirty line-ups and a countless host of imitators and acolytes from Sonic Youth to Pavement and beyond. That people still care is testament to Mark E Smith's singular brilliance. His distrust of groups such as Franz Ferdinand and Bloc Party and his abhorrence of bands that reform and play old songs in deference to the audience does not indicate any bitterness on his part, quite the opposite. It renders him more vital, a lodestar of heretical artistry; no label can hold him and no band will outlast him. Neither bought for gold, nor to the devil sold.
'Reformation - Post TLC', like the previous album 'Heads Will Roll', is sinewy and unalloyed. There are moments, granted fleeting ones, that sound like nothing on any previous Fall album but the rest is pure Salford Smith; rhythmic, snarling and funny. The constant shift in personnel, far from being the whim of a despotic drunkard, is the secret behind The Fall's continuous vitality; the musicians are playing for their lives because they don't know how long they will last, there is no comfort zone and not even his wife is safe.
The most extraordinary track on 'Reformation' is 'Das Boat' - ten and a half minutes of fuzzed up atmospherics, dissonant feedback, wordless, rhythmical vocalisations and Smith intoning 'Das Boat' over the squelch of the electronics and the clack of the sticks. The title track is about bands that get back together because they need the money, Smith standing on top of a high rise overlooking Manchester, vexed and venting. Is he shouting 'cheesesteak' or 'two states'? The latter being one of Pavement's more obvious Fall tributes from 'Slanted and Enchanted'. "It's about all those Manchester idiots, in groups, they're all reforming". Smith recently told Mojo. "It's obvious why they do it, isn't it? Cos' they're broke. And suddenly they're your mates. And y'know, the Manchester scene never liked the Fall." Revenge is a dish best served old.
'Fall Sound' is exactly that. Rumbling bass, big beat drums and clanging guitars. "Fall Sound!" yells Smith, "It's much too late". The studio chatter at the start of 'The Bad Stuff' gives way to a classic Fall riff which turns into a rockabilly stamp, bits of sampled speech mix it up with spiked guitars. There's a loving cover of Merle Haggard's 'White Line Fever' complete with authentic Yankee backing singers, their euphony in direct contrast to Smith's off key rendition. At the end an American voice can be heard saying "Let's do it again dude" amidst much laughter, somebody yells 'Cheeeesesteak' and Smith growls 'Fall Motel', 'Reformation' still very much on their minds and then the band fall into 'Insult Song' an irrepressible groove with a storyline that references Captain Beefheart, continues the white line fever thread and is funny as fuck. He even cracks himself up.
Aside from Smith, The Fall have no past and with their future ever uncertain, we can safely assume that they exist only in the here and now. I was listening to John Peel, many years ago. He played a new Fall track, sighed deeply and contentedly and said "The Fall; Always different, always the same". As usual, he nailed it.

The Fall are the best new band in Britain.

We're The Only Ghosts Here

2007.
Um mês passou a correr e os discos, deste ano ou do ano passado, afinal o que é que isso interessa?, passam num turbilhão que a era digital não deixa cessar - para nosso bem ou para o nosso mal.
Esfuma-se o gosto pela pop, transforma-se mesmo numa espécie de náusea, depois de algumas semanas em ritmo quase existencialista.
Últimos suspiros de uma hibernação que não será previsivelmente muito longa - e que trará por certo sonoridades mais experimentalistas - são dados por Wincing The Night Away dos Shins (serão os Shins os Go-Betweens do Sec XXI?) e Disco Romance de Sally Shapiro - Glorious synthpop from Sweden's 'disco princess', as ultra-soft vocals meet a shiny Eighties beat. Sounds so fragile and beautiful, you half expect it to melt in your mouth, segundo o The Guardian. Subscrevo.
Se todos os discos pop fossem assim, não haveria nunca enjoo.

Uma nova fase-experimental começou, entretanto, e começou desde logo com aqueles que são nesta altura provavelmente os melhores de todos; acabam de lançar 4 LP’s (vinyl only!) - Ghetto Beats On The Surface Of The Sun, Vols. 1, 2, 3 e 4. Para já, ando completamente viciado em Big Black Square, EP de 2005, com faixa única de 43 minutos – tudo improvisação. Mergulhos podem ser dados aqui. Cautela; é possível que haja dependência grave e lesões irreversíveis. Tarentel, pois claro.

This is a trip

Uma possível lista dos melhores discos de 2006.

Possível, porque quis faze-la curta. Mas ao longo das últimas semanas foi tão dinâmica, que daqui a 1 hora, ou daqui a dois dias, ou daqui a semanas/meses posso mudar de opinião. Porque todos os discos que dela constam são (deliciosamente) imperfeitos. Porque não ouvi todos os que quero ouvir, e porque há outros que nem sequer sei que existem, mas existem, e poderiam fazer parte desta lista.
Em 14 de Janeiro, ao início da noite, estes são os meus discos preferidos de 2006.
O melhor de todos é Passover dos Black Angels; um regresso à noite de Saigão em 1974 - a guerra, a fuga, a roleta russa, a heroína, De Niro, Walken e o Anjo Streep em The Deer Hunter de Michael Cimino. Apocalipse.

This is a trip - a bad trip: a trip where lights hover ominously overhead and you wish to fuck you took drugs because then at least you could explain away these feelings of doom, depression, decay and despair. It's a claustrophobic trip because these twenty-somethings know that this time - their generation - there's no fucking way they can escape (…)
Everett True - Plan B Magazine, October 2006.

The Black Angels – Passover
(e a partir daqui sem qualquer ordem)
Psychic Ills – Dins
The Big Sleep - Son Of The Tiger
Sonic Youth - Rather Ripped
The Horrors - The Horrors EP
Film School – Film School
The Victorian English Gentlemens Club - The Victorian English Gentlemens Club
The Radio Dept - Pet Grief
Peter Bjorn and John – Writer’s Block
Human Television - Look at Who You're Talking To