The Evpatoria Report - Maar [2008]

Armed with only two guitars, some drums, bass, a violin, and a keyboard, The Evpatoria Report accomplish quite a lot on their latest effort Maar, released courtesy of Get a Life! Records. According to Wikipedia, the band’s moniker references the Croatian city of Evpatoria, which broadcasts an “Evpatoria message” directly into space for any roaming aliens that might be bored enough to tune in. As an astronaut myself, I can assert with confidence that listening to The Evpatoria Report is much more engaging than listen to “the Evpatoria report.”

The album’s first cut, “Eighteen Robins Road,” builds like a prairie fire, beginning with only a tinkling of keys, building towards a full on assault of guitar distortion and heavy snare drum backbeats, and then dwindling to delicate cymbal notes and a recurrent organ melody . . . and then the process begins all over again. At its most intense, Maar carries a sense of crisis beneath its crescendos. It’s as if the next progression might turn the music loose from the confines of time and space, make it fly off the rails like a wayward locomotive.

Not to break musical character, “Mithridate” builds at the same tenuous pace, the drum groove punching in and out to match what sounds like e-bow guitar. This track leaves room for some space instead of gunning for the rather predictable instrumental swells. Between notes, an uptight British voice divulges a scientific-sounding status report regarding the effects of an unnamed drug on human subjects (cannabis?). Frequently, spoken word segments within the post-rock genre try too hard to be profound, and TER’s example offers a refreshing departure from pomposity.

Like “Mithridate,” “Acheron” feels a bit more organic than the first two tracks—a bit more jammy. When the groove finally does materialize, I dare say it borders on “jazzy.” But then comes the build, heaving us about like insignificant little beings riding the belly of an infinite and dangerous machine, cast in the shadow of its sublime wonder and horror. In an unexpected and delightful twist, the piece ends on a high-octave guitar melody that might have been at home on the credits of The Twilight Zone.

Bottom line: The Evpatoria Report conjure an impressive body of music within just four tracks. Pull a few paperweights off the shelf and make some room for Maar.

The Evpatoria Report

Buy the album via Get A Life! Records

—Major Tom

Sleepingdog - Polar Life [2008]

There’s not a wealth of information circulating about Hoegaarden, Belgium’s Sleepingdog, which is one of the reasons we’re inclined to review Chantal Acda’s latest effort, Polar Life, released courtesy of Gizeh—home to other great Euro acts such as Glissando.

Defining Sleepingdog is a bit like trying play catch with a jellyfish—it’s not as easy as it seems. And Sleepingdog, despite her myspace profile’s “experimental” music tag, really doesn’t reinvent the proverbial wheel. Yet her sound is distinctive and elusive in its simplicity—the austere vocals, the distant, sparse key notes, the rare ambient throb of drums. The closest comparative analysis we can muster is that Sleepingdog feels a bit like a stripped-down iteration of Windmill’s Puddle City Racing Lights, although Chantal Acda is like a choir of angels to Windmill's asthmatic bridge troll (sorry, Windmill; we still love you).

Lyrically, Polar Life supports its moniker, evoking a cold and beautiful sonic landscape. In “The Sun Sinks in the Sea,” the speaker recounts the destruction of “My wakened day / my dreams.” Again, though simplistic, these words yield heart-wrenching results within the context of the music. “Sunshine Daylight” perks things up a bit with busier instrumentation, brighter vocals, and crystalline glockenspiel tones. “Alleys,” a deep cut, contains some of the most vivid images: “You drove me from your door / through white dark long alleys / with light shining on us.” The speaker narrates a journey through snowy streets and lost love before long organ notes thrust the music forward, only to die away. “Ardennes” throws a curve ball with the inclusion of Sufjan Stevens-worthy banjo twanging, beat-box percussion samples, and even a taste of Stars of the Lid-grade electronic drone. The final cut, “If Only (Sophia),” is arguably the most moving. Acda shares vocal duties with a male persona (Adam Wiltzie?) to tremendous effect. The speaker muses: “If only I could believe that tomorrow / when I wake from my sleep / that you’d still be with me.” Again—simple, yet effective.

In addition to her artistic merits, Chantal Acda claims to have recorded Polar Life at home with a dog named “Darko” faithfully sprawled at her feet. She’s also worked with Texas drone virtuosos Stars of the Lid, which leads one to wonder —what are the chances she’d go for an astronaut drummer?

Bottom line: Polar Life allows for a gratifying journey. It’s more acoustic than experimental, but this music still possesses enough depth and quirkiness to fly in under most radars.

Check out Sleeping Dog on Myspace!

Sleeping Dog's Website [under construction]

—Major Tom

Mooncake-Lagrange Points [2008]

Since we can’t just review bands from Austin, TX, our latest pick lifts us all the way to the Russian Federation’s Moscow for Mooncake and their latest instrumental release, Lagrange Points. It’s almost too obvious a choice for a place called The Astronaut Farm, but get over it.

Since I am an astronaut, I already knew the album's title references Italian-French math wiz Josef Lagrange's “Lagrange points." The points themselves have to do with enormous heavenly bodies in motion and gravitational fields and the alignment angles at which smaller orbiting bodies may (theoretically) remain in stationary orbits. Why am I telling you this? So you can better understand some of Mooncake’s obscure track titles, which reference each of Lagrange’s points (“L1” through “L5”).

The good news is that you don't have to have a PhD in astrophysics to enjoy Mooncake's music. If anything, I was actually hoping that this album would be a little less derivative of the greater post-rock canon. The instrumentation invites comparisons to a number of quintessential post-rock acts, including Explosions in the Sky, Mono, Mogwai, and perhaps even Russian Circles and Red Sparowes. This is especially apparent on tracks like “444,” which, though beautiful, does little to distinguish Mooncake from the litany of American post bands. “Novorossiysk 1968” inspires a sublime sense of wonder, and feels something like tumbling through space, watching the beautiful and volatile formation of new galaxies as light and stardust heave together. “Mandarin” follows suit with stratospheric guitar melodies and rich, emotive string arrangements which build, build, build and fade. “The Horizons” perks things up with a stirring string melody before a more foreboding guitar swell takes precedence. But the uplifting string theme returns as the piece progresses, maintaining a stable thematic device to tie the different movements together. This is the sort of conceptual detail that separates talented musicians from pretenders.

While Lagrange Points doesn't exactly turn instrumental post-rock on its proverbial ear, it will offer a fine addition to your music library and will make for an enthralling aural experience. That being said, I'd like to see Mooncake take some bigger risks on their next release.

See Mooncake's myspace profile for purchasing instructions.

Check Mooncake out on Myspace!

Mooncake's Website (coming soon)

—Major Tom

Balmorhea - Rivers Arms [2008]

For their second LP release, Austin, Texas virtuosos Balmorhea have released Rivers Arms, a new collection of fourteen instrumental tracks with a smattering of vocal overlays. I must admit that at first I was puzzled by the band’s name. No matter how I tried to pronounce it, I ended up with connotations of some extremely painful intestinal disorder. According to their website, the band’s name is actually pronounced “bal-mor-ay,” which sounds far more appealing.

There’s something magical and symbiotic that happens when cello, violin, and key arrangements come together at the right time, in the right way. Balmorhea’s sound is expansive and austere, possessed of a bittersweet sense of longing and desolation. According to the bio listed on Western Vinyl’s website, the band’s music mirrors the Texas skies; perhaps so. For my money, Rivers Arms is especially moving during the rich arrangements of tracks like “San Solomon” and “Lament.” But that’s not to say that the spacey e-bow guitar arrangements of tracks like “The Summer” are necessarily lacking. Indeed, the synergy of instrumentation taking place between Michael Muller and Rob Lowe (it’s not clear who plays what) is the key ingredient that breathes life into this music, which vaults into vertiginous crescendos only to disintegrate into whispers.

Track titles probably won’t offer much in the way of constructing a narrative. It’s difficult to glean much significance, for instance, from a title such as “Baleen Morning,” much less understand why it should follow “Greyish Tapering Ash,” yet precede “Barefoot Pilgrims.” Spoken word and arrangements and field recordings pop up here and there, but the actual messages are usually too distorted to offer much help. Again, this observation isn’t necessarily meant as a criticism. It might be more helpful to think of Rivers Arms (and many other fine albums, for that matter) as a collection of discontinuous moments rather than an attempt to construct a coherent narrative.

In general, this reviewer appreciates the depth of this album as well as the group’s proclivity to generate shorter tracks (the longest, “Process,” weighs in at 6:22). The current tendency among instrumental groups seems to be producing slow-burning, over-inflated tracks in fewer numbers, and Balmorhea’s resistance to this trend warrants them some praise.

If Rivers Arms is deserving of any criticism, it might be that the instrumentation doesn’t produce as much tension as you might find among the efforts of groups like Godspeed You! Black Emperor. In comparison, Balmorhea’s music might ring a trifle nostalgic and pastoral. Though selections like “Theme No. 1” may arouse melancholy emotions, the music never defies containment, never threatens to fly off the rails and break loose. But some fans will praise the group for this very quality. Sometimes restraint makes for powerful, emotive music, and Rivers Arms certainly delivers, albeit with a few moments of heightened intensity. I dare say Balmorhea’s Rivers Arms qualifies as a 2008 must-have. Do pick up a copy, and let me know what the hell is on the cover! Raisins? Coffee beans? Clam shells?

Check them out on Myspace!

Buy album via Western Vinyl!

—Major Tom

Hunter S. Thompson - Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas [1971]

Let this reviewer admit right off the bat that he saw Terry Gilliam’s wonderful film before reading Hunter S. Thompson’s hysterical roman á clef, which follows Raoul Duke and his attorney Dr. Gonzo as they fill their heads with acid and burn across the desert in search of the American Dream and the Mint 400—an absurd yet widely-acclaimed motorbike race. The bad news: because Gilliam’s adaption is so faithful, most casual fans will get their Gonzo fill just by watching Johnny Depp and Benicio Del Toro stumble around on screen. In fact, this reviewer found that some of the movie’s exclusions to be quite sensible in retrospect.

Now for the good news: for those of us who just couldn’t get enough substance-related absurdity, Thompson’s book might bring a new level of appreciation of Raoul Duke and Gonzo. One of the most striking aspects of Thompson’s prose style is its unrelenting journalistic edge. A lesser writer might have attempted to portray drug usage by falling into the mimetic fallacy—depicting an acid trip with trippy, disjointed prose. Not Thompson. From alcohol to cocaine to adrenochrome, he offers us the nittiest of gritties in stark cold realism.

Almost any novel offers a denser narrative than a feature-length film, and Thompson’s Fear and Loathing is no exception. Obviously, the book contains all the scenes that made the movie an underground classic, but many of these scenes, such as Duke’s acid-inspired dinosaur hallucination and the Circus Circus freakout incident, creep to life with new depth and vitality. By offering us more direct access to Duke’s (often warped) psyche, we pick up a number of important cultural references that might have felt contrived had they been added to the film. In lieu of Depp and Del Toro, the text offers Ralph Steadman’s twisted illustrations, which compliment the spirit of Thompson’s writing perfectly and must have certainly inspired Gilliam’s vision as well. To be fair, Gilliam’s film, in retrospect, antes up its own share of original wit and visual charm, including some great additions to the Narcotics Convention.

If you’re a fan of Gilliam, Thompson, or both, you owe it to yourself to spend some quality reading time with Raoul Duke and Dr. Gonzo. Beyond the “galaxy” of ingested drugs, these characters end up generating some very poignant statements about America and the drug culture. Perhaps what these two finally offer up is an image of the American Dream as it would actually appear—something twisted, distorted, and utterly absurd. They may be acidheads, but many of us will find Duke and Gonzo quite sane in comparison to the novel’s material-lusting outsiders.

Memorable line: “We can’t stop here. This is bat country!”

—Major Tom

Those Poor Bastards - The Plague [2008]

Prepare to be baptized, space cadets! With their 2008 release The Plague, Those Poor Bastards herald an important point in music history, nay, American history: country music has finally become self-aware and self-critical.

And the results are like succor for the damned! Those Poor Bastards split vocal duties between two personas: “Lonesome Wyatt” and “The Minister,” both of whom sport over-the-top “country” schwag for live shows. The over-determined lyrics play with country music conventions, establishing the familiar themes of pistol-based suicidal urges, Christianly angst, Bible verses, sodomy, the devil, hellfire, and a general sense of feeling ornery and disenfranchised.

“Sick & Alone” is an obvious and admirable ode to Cash. In “A Curse,” the speaker, masterfully channeling the voice of some diseased carnival barker, tells us it’s “time to put on your hypocrite shoes / You liar! / You liar!” The band’s website captions Hank Williams III’s reference to “gothic country,” but I think we could just as easily call this “mock country.” To be blunt, I’ll bet my favorite whiskey flask that Unknown Hinson owns a copy of this album.

All yucks aside, Those Poor Bastards still manage to weave together an impressive aural tapestry. Among sections of what I can only describe as Nine Inch Nails gone country lie some “authentic-sounding” accordion sections and hand-crashed cymbal punctuations. Listening to the album feels a bit like dropping an overgenerous dose of acid, wandering into an Alabama revivalist church, and then making for the nearest dive bar. This aesthetic is relevant in the same way that Tom Waits is relevant. With track titles like “Barn Burning,” “A Curse,” and “Evil on My Mind,” Those Poor Bastards take the sort of thematic content that obsessed troubadours like Cash and take it a few steps further, inflating and distorting the conventions until they threaten to burst at the seams. At times this music inspires laughter, and at other times, outright fear.

The album’s sixth cut reminds us “The Plague is here,” and I can’t help wondering what exactly we should worry about. Maybe the answer lies within the album artwork, and that sinister vulture—the one that looks suspiciously like a deformed eagle preparing to prey upon the American landscape. Hmmm.

Carrion birds aside, we’re all dirty sinners, and it follows that we should all pass through The Plague’s purifying flames. Enjoy!

Memorable line: “I’ve been disemboweled by the blues”

—Major Tom

Check out Those Poor Bastards!

The Calm Blue Sea - The Rivers That Run Beneath This City [2008]

Our inaugural review here at The Astronaut Farm scopes out Austin, Texas's own The Calm Blue Sea. I must admit that while I know next to nothing about them, I'm pretty taken with this group. Under the "influences" category of TCBS's webpage, they list "White Noise, Black Coffee, Defeat, Victory, Oceans, Whiskey and lies . . . and The Beatles." What's not to like?

Wittiness aside, the music is compelling. TCBS are savvy enough to realize they need to differentiate themselves from the litany of "post-rock" clones, and they do so with an invigorating series of tracks that stretches their creative abilities as well as the listener's imagination. These tracks speak from ambient whispers to wall-rattling roars without becoming repetitive or even derivative. "We Happy Few," the album's opening track, unfolds into a full-tilt sonic assault, though the guitar arrangements wisely resist falling into the now-obligatory "Mono sound." This is a more melodic timbre, though often subtler and perhaps darker than the likes of Explosions in the Sky.

The Calm Blue Sea boasts a wealth of dynamic range as well. Though much of the record maintains a somewhat standard instrumental format, "Literal" allows the inclusion of a very well-executed vocal track and the constant refrain "you were so literal." The album's closing track, "This Will Never Happen Again," invokes an ominous spoken voice sample layered over a chilly melody, only to somersault into cymbal swells and apocalyptic guitar noise. To be pithy, this band can do it all. Check this one out, space cadets!

--Major Tom

Check them out on myspace!

Welcome to The Astronaut Farm

Welcome, welcome, my fellow space cadets. This is a new place to come for all the dirt on obscure (and not-so-obscure) music, movies, books, artwork, etc.

I'll thank Captain Obvious for giving me a place to publish for so long, but I think now it makes sense to take my chances elsewhere.

Mainly, this blog will remain faithful to my current fascination with instrumental music in the vein of Mono, Godspeed, A Silver Mt. Zion as well as some more mainstream material. I'm hoping that many of these obscure artists will be glad to participate in interviews as well.

I hope you like it up here!

-MAJOR TOM (and no, my name is not really Tom)