Full-on gritty onslaught from Pennsylvania noisemakers/noisebreakers, Air Coniditioning, in what seems like a daunting exercise in feedback drenched, static slamdance endurance. This trio knows how to get some shit started, and they don't waste any time in doing so. From the first track, Where to Litter/Trash is Burning, the band lays down the first abrasive signpost on their twisted junk-piled journey into evacuation procedure mayhem crushing. The ethos is simple, make a ruckus and tap into those areas most bands fear to tread, mainly because they might blow-out their equipment or their hearing. Air Conditioning couldn't give half a fuck about either one of the two, and the viciousness that the album provokes is proof enough. Like a battering ram, the first two tracks blast and bite any hand that feeds, and the third track is a brief moment of floating in the vacuum of space right before the supernova hits, which becomes the fourth and last track, Accept Your Paralysis/Cephalexin. Hold on tight, and if you're still cowering in the corner by the time this behemoth finishes, I think it might be a good time to towel off and do it all over again. Check out the short snippet of the collaboration between them and American Band below. (i lurve when he chugs the beer)
Upon revisiting this album again for this review, one thing always stands out to me on this phenomenal album, and that is that it is absolutely, breath-takingingly both euphoric & peaceful. The Sea and Cake have been kicking around for quite a few years now, and I have been hard pressed to be disappointed by any output that they have unloaded on their devoted listeners. This band truly has a way with rhythm, and it always rises to the surface while the band is carving out it's splendid melodies. The two compliment each other a little too well, and the band manages to pull it off with ease. It would make anyone jealous, because they sound like they're having a lot of fun doing these complicated yet beautiful arrangements. Plenty of drum machines, live drums, groovy bass lines, airy vocals, jazzy overtones and electronic oscillations flung about in perfect sequence on this mid-90s long-player. It still seems fresh after all these years. The Sea and Cake are in top form here, and if you haven't heard this album, get on the cake-wagon and do your cochlea a favor. Catch them live when they come to yer town as well, you won't regret it. 
Electronic insect-chatter never sounded so soothing before, that is until Robert Lowe of 90 Day Men released this, his second solo album on Kranky, Omns. What we have here, in spades, is a lot of eerie vocal loops layered with the occasional electric guitar or piano to more or less fill in the gaps and provide some direction to Lowe's ambient passages. Close your eyes and picture floating yerself down the Nile in ancient times, awaiting the mystical fates that might happen upon yer way. Robert knows how to create the perfect atmosphere of both intrigue and frontal lobe massaging with his electronic arias of pleasure-center conditioning. It's a simple concept executed to sublime perfection. The lengthy track, M St R Ng W Tchcr Ft L V Ng N Sp R T, is a standout for it's exotic acoustic instrumentations coupled with narcotic-inducing tones weaving this way and that throughout the duration of the passage, among other sounds. Omns is certainly worthy of it's meditative name. Robert Lowe, thanks for gracing our ears with a fantastic record that's hard to pigeonhole, and that comforts with both it's ambiance and moody outshines. 
The perfect soundtrack to laying around, driving, playing hackey-sack or sleeping; Dallas' own Bedhead were the slowcore pioneers that brought this quaint and distinct album on the scene back in the golden days of grunge. Mumbley-joe vocals, light percussion and plenty of guitar interplay on this one, basically all of the staples of why we love Bedhead, and this debut pretty well establishes their fine craft. Obvious highlight, Powder, also emphasizes the optimism that the band carries through their use of extended jamming and just plain slackin' the day away on the highs of a lazy sun-soaked Dallas weekend. The album feels like that point of your friends barbecue when you've realized you've had a few too many beers and chicken wings, and you just want to sit by the kiddie pool lightly splashing your face and laying on the cool grass; it may be a bit rollicking at times but it always evens out to a smooth kilter. Fry up the grill, string the patio lights up, turn on the bug zapper, and call your friends; it's going to be a laid-back kind of evening. 
Duck and cover! Norwegian duo, MoHa! have come for your cavity-filled youth and they're leaving behind robotic debris of intestinal tract all over your carpet. Assaulting the senses in a skronk overload only Pee Wee Herman's robot, Conky on meth, could muster from the garbled spew and what could maybe be a keyboard, sampler or infected humidifier, (based on the video below it appears to be all three); we get the textural industrial strengths of this album paired with some of the sickest drumming from Zach Hill's school of bash. It's a simple set-up executed with extreme difficulty and precision; a prog schizopolid screaming from the primordial soup, and grab your attention it does! (and does not let go really). Don't wear the short shorts around this filthy beast, you might get a testie or two yanked.
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