Tabs Out | Thomas Bey William Bailey – La Production Interdite

Thomas Bey William Bailey – La Production Interdite
6.26.18 by Ryan Masteller

Doppelgängers: we all have them. Whether they’re psychic phenomena, replicated clones, products of out-of-body experiences, demon-possessed tulpas, or simply alternate-universe versions of ourselves that have stumbled into our world somehow, there’s sure to exist another version of us that, chances are, we’ll stumble upon sometime during our lives. We just have to be ready for it, that’s all.

Thomas Bey William Bailey has confronted the idea of the doppelgänger head on with “La Production Interdite” (forbidden production), and he has presented both the original version (“Instrumental Mix”) and its – wait for it – doppelgänger, “Vocal Mix.” This experiment is exactly what it sounds like. Each thirty-minute piece unfolds with synthesizers rending the boundaries between universes, allowing for extraphysical events such as life-form passage between universes. Now, if I know anything about multiverse theory and the Higgs boson (and I don’t), that’s probably not possible. But what if!

I’d probably be able to give you more information about the theory behind “La Production Interdite,” and indeed Bailey has provided a seven-page pdf with the download (there’s only a fraction of that text on the j-card), but who’s gonna read red text on a black background on a computer screen? My eyes were bugging out of my skull at the conclusion of the first paragraph. Regardless, after side A’s mystic journey through quantum entanglement, side B’s not-quite-mirror version includes Bailey reciting passages of “autoscopic phenomena” (doppelgänger stuff), pretty much solidifying “La Production Interdite” as the “Twilight Zone” or “X-Files” or “Fringe” or “Twin Peaks” equivalent of cosmic synth drones. And that’s the perfect thing for you and your double to zone out to, possibly on the couch while zonked out on whatever sedative the government agents dosed you both with.

Available in an edition of fifty from Elevator Bath – that’s enough for one tape each per twenty-five doppelgänger pairs!

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Tabs Out | Nils Quak – Warmer Asphalt

Nils Quak – Warmer Asphalt
6.21.18 by Ryan Masteller

German knob-twiddler Nils Quak is just like the rest of us if you squint hard enough. Sure, even though he’s probably one of those people whose head is perpetually buried in a bird’s nest of synthesizer patch cords and whose eyes are glazed over from perusing thousands of sample files and whose shoulders are perpetually slumped under the weight of the backpack full of contact microphones doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy fresh air or non-microwaved food or the sweet rush of human attention. It just means he records and releases music on cassette tape, that’s all.

And boy howdy, has he ever added to his (impressive) discography with “Warmer Asphalt,” his debut on Never Anything Records but release number 21 if you’re looking at his Bandcamp page. (Look at it!) True to form, “Warmer Asphalt” is a sometimes pensive, often meditative, cautiously curious exploration of sound, with patterns and motifs nibbling around the edges of rhythm like fish. And nothing called “Warmer Asphalt” wouldn’t NOT sound like molten pitch being slathered all over a worn-out roadway on a hot summer’s day – just imagine all that material liquefying, spreading, and cooling, hardening into material strong enough for us to drive our automobiles upon. Quak fills our ears with the melodic imaginings of such matter, the foundation and the life that travels upon it. We are inextricable from the things we create.

You can get “Warmer Asphalt” from the Never Anything Bandcamp page (edition of 50 – hurry!), and you can keep an eye out for other reviews of tapes in this lovely batch around town… “town” being the internet, in case you thought I lived close by or something.

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Tabs Out | Caloia / Charuest / Fousek – Residual Time

Caloia / Charuest / Fousek – Residual Time
1.18.18 by Ryan Masteller

It’s not easy to know if you’re going to click with somebody. There you are, plopped in a room with two other total strangers, and you’re expected to quickly acclimate yourself to their personalities and ease into melodious conversation? It can be quite a daunting proposition. I mean, go back and listen to Tabs Out 001 – those wallflowers barely talk to each other! Luckily, I’ve been #blessed with a winning personality, humility to boot, and I can keep a collaborative conversation going for a long dang time.

It’s hard to know who knew whom at the very moment double bassist Nicolas Caloia, saxophonist Yves Charuest, and electronic experimenter Karl Fousek first entered a room together with the intention of making music, and there’s certainly no easy way to find out (save actually asking someone, but where’s the fun in that?), but we should mark that theoretical moment on our mental calendars and celebrate it once a year. For it has birthed us “Residual Time,” a 24-minute live improvisation that we can return to and parse and simply enjoy in the moments beyond that evening on July 5, 2016, at Le Cagibi in Montréal, which would be frozen in unreachable time otherwise if someone hadn’t had the wherewithal to record the performance. Kids, take it from me: someone’s always recording you.

The players flit around each other as “Residual Time” unfolds, each moving in and out of the spotlight with confidence and trusting in the others’ accompaniment. Slowly the piece moves through its iterations, with Caloia, Charuest, and Fousek exploring the sonic foundation of the experiment and building on top of it a mazelike architecture with hidden passages and side quests. If this was the trio’s first meeting (and in the end, I highly doubt that!), then we could point to their mutual curiosity as the binding element that keeps the musical conversation progressing. These three are certainly curious scamps!

“Residual Time” is available from the Warsaw, Poland, label Mondoj, released along with this gem of a gem by GDFX. Get ’em while supplies last!

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Tabs Out | Episode #127


JPEGMAFIA x Freaky - The 2nd Amendment (Deathbomb Arc)
Wet Garden - Deep in Earth (Null Zone)
Bary Center - Betrayal (Always Human)
Phteven Universe - s/t (Choam Charity)
Long Distance Poison - Knock Magh (Hausu Mountain)
Juice Machine - Parallel Patterns (Moon Myst Music)
Sun Hammer - s/t (Full Spectrum)
Lyrans - Float Lines (Pile O Tunes)
Gateway - The Dawn of the Civil Savage (Castle Bravo)
Wingclipper - Secrets of the Stars (IBW)
Excavacations - split w/ Azaleas (Space Slave)
BBBlood - split w/ Claus Poulsen (Soundholes)


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Tabs Out | Clawing / Offerbeest – split

Clawing / Offerbeest – split
6.13.18 by Ryan Masteller

From Nailbat Tapes, your favorite purveyors of spiked weaponry and sonic terrorism, or the sonic terrorism equivalent of spiked weaponry (it’s not clear what’s happening right now at the shadowy corner stall of this rural flea market), comes a release that’s essentially righteous indignation in sound form. And we all know what forms righteous indignation takes when it’s wielded by the blackhearted and downtrodden. It can get really dark around these psychoses if the root causes are left to fester.

But hey, we noise lovers can’t complain, so as long as we get great splits by Clawing and Offerbeest, the government can pump whatever chemicals or poisons into the water it wants to. Clawing’s side is a rippling diffraction of distant drones, flickering sickly in the subterranean shadows where the victims cower. Jeff McLeod and Austin Gaines conjure the mood, while spoken word artist/poet Matt Finney intones horrible truths in an Alabama drawl deadened by PTSD, truths that we all fear for our kids and about our country. Example: “A whole generation of drunken car crashes [gives] way to another generation of meth addicts.” I’d chuckle at the gross southern hyperbole if he wasn’t so dead on.

Offerbeest seethes through to this plane of existence in the form of Gnaw Their Tongues’s Maurice de Jong, a Dutch troublemaker who here uses analog synthesizers to further foist his black metal nightmares upon us. Listening to Offerbeest is like listening to Ash Williams recite passages from the Necronomicon, but way less funny, and way more actually dangerous. (You thought the Deadites were dangerous, didn’t you. You fool – Offerbeest is dangerous.) Curdling any sort of positivity or goodness into noxious fumes within a vast void-y cauldron of static and disease, de Jong’s wretched meditations serve as the dank endpoint this whole tape is hurtling toward like an old Chevy with its brakes cut. When the cops peel your face from the rock wall you smashed into, the blood spatters beneath will spell “Offerbeest.”

For some reason.

Nailbat released 100 of these; thwack your head against one to see if it sticks in there.

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Tabs Out | espécie de fé – I. a fé que vence

espécie de fé – I. a fé que vence
6.12.18 by Ryan Masteller

I’m going to be honest with you: OTA could release hours of endless tape of the sound of wind barely blowing, and I’d still be all over their cassettes if they looked like this. Once again, each of these cassettes, released in a batch of thirty, contains on its cover a thirtieth of an overarching piece of art that, when viewed as a whole, is stunning. There it is, right up there at the top of the page – the whole thing. Flávia Cassiano, responsible for that lovely acrylic and pencil drawing, should be proud of the result. Each one of these tapes, even with a fraction of a greater whole representing it, is a work of art in itself.

But (at least some of) you probably don’t buy a cassette tape just for the artwork, so it’s worth noting that listening to espécie de fé (“kind of faith) as he/she/they unfurl what are essentially two sidelong 24-minute sonic tapestries is just as much a treat as it is to peruse the cover of “I. a fé que vence” (“I. the faith that wins”). Slathering a vast array of vocal samples all over a variety of sound sources, espécie de fé attains a kind of enchanted transformation as the voices lose their connections to human mouths and become ominous and/or absurd instrumental elements. It’s a good thing that I don’t understand the language(s) being spoken, or else some of the magic might be lost upon these monolingual ears with the comprehension of words. What results instead is a dreamlike trance, mystical revelations revealed over the passage of time. Either that or I’ve been subliminally compromised for evil. In fact, here is my debit card number and PIN, my master…

Remember, there are only thirty of these, so hit up OTA now before these beauts are gone…

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Tabs Out | The pineapple upside-down zones of Bad Cake Records

The pineapple upside-down zones of Bad Cake Records
6.11.18 by Mike Haley, Ryan Masteller

According to their Bandcamp profile, Bad Cake Records is a”misfit, non-elitist cassette label with no set aesthetic.” According to Tony Lien, he operates the label out of a tiny mountain town in Minnesota called Bemidji — A town VERY proud of it’s Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox monument. According to us, you should know a little about them…

“I once drunkenly ate some pineapple upside-down cake from a dumpster” Tony characterized his baddest bad cake experience. “At least it was in a plastic clam shell case.” The label Bad Cake is far less grim than rooting through trash for trash cake, despite the logo depicting a cigarette butt put out on a 4 tier cake. Started as an outlet for a crew of talented friends back in Lien’s former home of Lincoln/Omaha, and his own Dere Moans project, Bad Cake released it’s first batch of three tapes in January. A more than solid start.

The Triangle Man is my best friend Clinton Smith.” Lien said, describing the artists involved. “He and I were in an improv noise rock band Mildred Bonk for years down there. When he started putting his beautiful solo stuff up on Bandcamp (and not even telling anybody about it!) I was obviously blown away. The Eternal is my other close friend Matt Martinosky. “Witness To An Execution” is actually a 15 year old album that might have never been heard had I not asked Matt to send me something for the first batch. And Dere Moans is my project. I made “Doom Royale” as sort of an ode to my high school days—which we’re hopelessly saturated in the poisonous slime that is nü-metal.”

A highlight from the the second batch came in an edition of 25 (still available!) from Boston duo Glove Pilot, reviewed here by Ryan Masteller:

“Thunder Suite” is like God’s love, indifference, and wrath all meted out upon the mortals of earth with severe judgment, just like we learn in the Bible. It should be no surprise to any of you that I’m on the receiving end of the “love” third of this spectrum, but don’t mistake that designation as something I eased into: God’s love is incredibly hard to come by, and you really have to jump through a litany of legalistic hoops to attain it. In fact, you’re probably better off shooting lower, going for God’s indifference, because being good is hard – it’s really hard. Just ask all those people expecting God’s wrath, the worst of the worst, the Ted Cruzes and the Michelle Bachmans and the Richard Spencers of the world. Because there’s no way God’s even remotely indifferent toward those swine.

And because I’m so filled with the love of God, I’m here to present you GlovePilot’s “Thunder Suite (& More),” from which my account takes its inspiration. See, jazz duo (God loves jazz!) Matt Hull (trumpets/pedals) and Joe Hartigan (drums) have basically one-upped Dante Alighieri’s totally bloated and contrived “Divine Comedy” with something more streamlined and accessible, something that most of us normal people can enjoy. The “Thunder Suite,” which appears on side A of this tape, flits through the three different possibilities your immortal soul will inhabit, from the mega-upbeat “Heaven” to the middle ground of “In Limbo” and finally to the terrifying breakneck scribble of “Hell.” All this in about ten minutes – how long did it take you to read “Divine Comedy” in high school? Longer than ten minutes? There, I’ve saved you A LOT of time.

Side B features the “(& More)” part of this tape, as Hull and Hartigan drop the pretense of narrative and spiral off into psychedelia with “Laika” and “Sun Riser,” the former a minimal meditation on, uh, space dogs (sure) and the latter a splatter of tone and percussion across the audio canvas. I’m not sure God likes all that “experimental” stuff though – GlovePilot might have gone a little too far here. Too many “bong hits” if you get my meaning.

Still, if you’re having second thoughts about buying “Thunder Suite (& More),” you should pray about it, and then you should buy one before Bad Cake Records runs out of tapes (or me and the other chosen ones are raptured).

At this exact second Bad Cake has ten releases, the latest being a follow up from Dere Moans called “Future Deli.” A damn perfect representation of the label, “Future Deli” is a wormy, joyous synth recording tangled with ASMR chewing sounds and cooking show clips.

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Tabs Out | The New Me – A Beach to Walk Upon

The New Me – A Beach to Walk Upon
6.8.18 by Ryan Masteller

“Behold, the new me…”

Your pie face radiates misty introspection as you wander the sandy strip of coast, the waves eroding the shore ever so slowly as you contemplate the day that they reach so far inland that evacuations become necessary. Several self-improvement false starts later, and the only thing that makes any sense is the chilly sea, the heavy gray clouds, the mist and salt blowing in the breeze. The taxi you hired several sleepless days ago, and to whose caffeine-jittered driver you are paying a small fortune to for his services (no idea why you don’t just rent a car at this point), waits just beyond the dunes. The belief that “you’ll actually feel better” repeats as if on an endless tape loop in your head, and you still believe it, even though you’re hungry and tired and the gulls are obviously whispering about you among themselves as they rest there on the beach. That sandpiper just flipped you off with a toe.

Mind blank as a fart save for the weird loops that your life has become, your footsteps begin to echo in your ears, which is pretty impossible because you’re walking on the beach. Halting, you stoop to the ground and grasp handfuls of sand and broken shells and seaweed, stuffing the material in your pockets and going back for more. “This – this is the new me,” you determine, your new sand life substitute a richer, fuller experience than anything that’s come before. Your brain tracks like a warbled synthesizer run through a broken reel-to-reel, and you wonder if you can see the taxi from the top of the dune over there. Maybe you can also see the Iberian Peninsula – you MUST be on the same latitude, if your internal compass is to be believed. But, given the state of The New Me, the old me version 8.12 or thereabouts, it would be surprising if you can see your fingers in front of your face anymore. Well, there is a bit of fog. That probably rules out Spain and Portugal.

“Keep off the gott-damned dunes!” a mustachioed gentleman bellows from beside the dinghy he’s repairing. Or is he a pistachioed griddlepen? Words are meaningless now.

Herds are greening test plows, and you can Gorilla Glue your face to this webpage for cassette buying adventures. Irrational Tentent?! I thought it was a mirage!

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Tabs Out | Premiere: The Binary Marketing Show – Short Term Fix for a Long Time Death

Premiere: The Binary Marketing Show – Short Term Fix for a Long Time Death
6.7.18 by Gray Lee

“Time keeps on persistently like a child tugging on your sleeve.” So goes the first line of “Daydream (I Cannot,)” off of The Binary Marketing Show‘s latest release, “Short Term fix for a Long Term Death,” a title that is perfectly fitting for this recording – as Portland based artists Abram and Bethany weave a tapestry of field recordings, spiraling synth drones that shimmer and reverberate warmly, and lyrics that are as wistful as they are painful – a blending of peaceful and melancholy thoughts. Fuzzy instrumentations and passages of noise organically punctuate thoughtfully written lyrics, which come about like afterthoughts, hastily jotted on a scrap of newsprint and taped to a dirty mirror.

This handsomely indistinct testimony of the soul, brought to us via Already Dead Tapes, is a powerful addition to Binary Marketing’s catalog, expanding, focusing, and intensifying the musical ideas of their previous release, “Anticipation of Something Else,” (also on Already Dead [AD123.]) “Short Term Fix” is anything but short term. It is a densely packaged audio reliquary which will require repeat pilgrimage to fully plum the depths of. Each poetic chapter of this story is expressed with a bare candor that, at times, seems confessional. “The anger that bleeds from my fist/ is nothing that ever should be missed,”‘ sings Abram, as perky electronic beats and swirling harmonies behind him elevate the track to another spiritual plane.

There is something new around every corner in these ten tracks, including traditional instrumentation of drums, guitars, even banjo – but also featuring electronically driven tones, found sounds, or drone elements. These add an air of mystery and suspense, whether lurking in the background, creating a wider space for the song to form, or occupying all of the foreground, demanding apt attention, as in the track “Tradition” This shifting focus and style builds the depth and scope of the work, providing the listener with a varied sensory experience.

“Short Term Fix for a Long Term Death” is now available for pre-order from Already Dead Tapes here. Tape and vinyl officially enters the world June 29th.

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Tabs Out | Deterritory – Invisible Migrations

Deterritory – Invisible Migrations
6.6.18 by Ryan Masteller

They called it “Deterritory” for a reason, because the borders broke down. Luis Gonzalez, aka Lavas Magmas, aka Deterritory, busted em right up, sent in the wrecking balls, disarmed the militias. “Invisible Migrations” was the result, a heart-pounding, pulse-racing sound document of hidden transit, of crossing lines of demarcation that had previously been “off limits.” People unite, ideas are shared, growth and evolution occurs. “But Ryan,” you ask, “is this whole thing gonna be some social commentary on toxic nationalism and runaway capitalistic tendencies? And if so, can I stop reading?” Oh, you, reader; not even a little, and of course not. But you’d better be prepared for this new cold war, one against the poor and the immigrant.

Deterritory is READY. He’s got his chilly synthesizer rig, his 808s and 909s (OK, whatever drum programs he’s using, I’m no expert), his probably angular haircut. Maybe not the haircut, but still! “Invisible Migrations” is a throwback to the eighties club days when the former punkers found some electronic gear and birthed the genre so eloquently and appropriately referred to as “Post Punk,” capitalized here for maximum resistance against societal norms. But Deterritory fills in the rough edges of serrated darkwave with absolutely mesmerizing psychedelic krautrock passages in the middle of this tape – in fact, the two tracks that make up the creamy center of the 4-track album comprise like a whole two-thirds of the thing. I want them to last forever.

Make the whole tape last forever for yourself (or at least until you ruin it after leaving it in your cutoff jeans pocket during one of your infrequent laundromat trips) by purchasing a copy at Lavas Magmas’s Bandcamp page. You can root around the Hideous Seed Blogspot too, but good luck trying to buy anything there. Hope those border crossings work out OK for you!

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