Patrick Sisson - Writer, Journalist, Cultural Documentarian, Music Lover

PATRICK SISSON

Vapour Trails: Revisiting Shoegaze

Feature
XLR8R
January 2009
Link

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It’s known as the Holocaust, but it’s greeted like the rapture. A sound engineer says it sounds “pretty similar to a jet taking off,” and it has the decibel readings to prove it (roughly 130). “The sound moved my face,” blogged Deerhunter’s Bradford Cox. “My balls retracted.”

That sound is the live rendition of “You Made Me Realise,” the signature track with which My Bloody Valentine, reformed after 13 years of silence, has been ending each of its reunion-tour sets–a cacophonous, hypnotic, fill-the-void version built from a multi-octave sea of bent tones.

“It’s interesting and fun, in a cruel way, watching the audience react as the song progresses,” says Ger Colclough, a monitor engineer on the tour. “You can see the different emotions and feelings they go through as the song reaches its peak, from the fascinated look, disbelief look, shocked look, and back to the final look of amazement.”

This sonic gut-check has become part of the mythology of My Bloody Valentine, and of the shoegaze sound itself. Once dubbed “the scene that celebrates itself,” the term “shoegaze” was christened in late-’80s England to describe a group of bands who combined ethereal, swirling vocals and layer upon layer of distorted, bent, and flanged guitar. Ultimately, it referred more to these floppy-haired bands’ lack of rock ’n’ roll antics on-stage–their habit of gazing downward at their myriad guitar pedals–than their music. While hazy and narcotic-sounding, the bands that fell under this banner were far from homogenous. If anything, their common link was expanding the sonic vocabulary (if not always at MBV’s deafening levels).

With modern acts like Ulrich Schnauss and Asobi Seksu heavily inspired by the shoegaze sound, the recent release from Spiritualized (an offshoot of the even gazy-er Spacemen 3), and reunions of seminal bands like My Bloody Valentine and Swervedriver, we decided to track down members of Slowdive, Lush, Ride, Chapterhouse, and more to talk about the glory days and the genre’s continued relevance.

Shoe-Ins
Miki Berenyi (Lush singer/guitarist)
“Shoegazing was originally a slag-off term. My partner [K.J. “Moose” McKillop], who was the guitarist in Moose, claims that it was originally leveled at his band. Apparently the journo was referring to the bank of effects pedals he had strewn across the stage that he had to keep staring at in order to operate. And then it just became a generic term for all those bands that had a big, sweeping, effects-laden sound, but all stood resolutely still on stage.”

Andy Sherriff (Chapterhouse singer/guitarist)
“For us, it had quite a lot to do with the fact that we weren’t too good at singing and playing at the same time, so we had to look down at the guitar all the time to see. We played a lot of barre chords, chords that go up and down the guitar neck, so you were kind of looking where you were going.”

Adam Franklin (Swervedriver singer guitarist)
“Shoegaze wasn’t a favorable term when it first appeared. Partly, you think about the bands having sloppy fringes, stripy shirts, and Chelsea boots.”

Brad Laner (Medicine singer/guitarist)
“It never had any resonance for me. If you see any footage of us, we were jumping around and being spazzy all the time. We rocked out. I don’t think you’ll find any band of that period that would identify itself as a shoegaze band, and any band that identifies itself as that now is probably not worth listening to.”

Miki Berenyi (Lush)
“Funnily enough, [the tagline] ‘the scene that celebrates itself’ was actually the invention of Steve Sutherland, then editor of the Melody Maker, and was originally meant as a compliment! It referred to the fact that, as a movement, we were actually all very friendly and supportive of each other, rather than backbiting and sniping, which was supposedly the norm. It was actually pretty annoying getting lumped in with bands we didn’t think we sounded anything like, particularly because such comparisons were more often used against us.”

Andy Sherriff (Chapterhouse)
“Now the term has been appropriated by fans, the way a lot of insults are. And people use it in a way that’s totally non-derogatory.”
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Group Dynamics: Referential Sampling and Precision Recording Gel On Herbert’s Big Band Opus

Interview
Remix
November 2008

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The medium and the message are never separate in the music of Matthew Herbert. Spun partly from esoteric samples — the sounds of laser eye surgery, drums recorded in a hot air balloon or condoms dragged across the floor — his songs appear to be some form of sonic alchemy or voodoo, but every note and noise fits into a larger political context. It’s part statement, part adherence to a code (Herbert’s Personal Contract for the Composition of Music) and partly a play on the storytelling potential of audio over visual.

“People have a very different level of expectation and cynicism when it comes to sound,” Herbert says. “I think this obsession with the image is at the heart of what’s wrong with our society.”

But behind the philosophical rigor, post-modern critiques and stunt sampling lies an appreciation for the art and craft of recording. Herbert’s latest, There’s Me and There’s You (!K7) fuses experimental samples with a big band. While he and the engineers he works with are rigorous — 13 tracks were recorded in one meticulously planned day at Abbey Road Studio Two — he can also be incredibly flexible.

“I tread a very fine line between absolute precision and couldn’t give a shit,” he says. “I’ll spend a great deal of time researching the right mics for trombones, and then I’ll happily turn up at a session and record with my mobile phone. It’s much more about the story than the intention of the music.”
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Execution’s Doorstep: True Stories of the Innocent and Near Damned

Book Review
Playboy.com
November 2008
Link

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Execution’s Doorstep: True Stories of the Innocent and Near Damned
by Leslie Lytle
Northeastern University Press, 300 pages, Hardcover $29.95
Reviewed by Patrick Sisson

In many prison dramas, punishment for wrongfully imprisoned inmates comes at the hands of monstrous fellow convicts or sadistic guards. But in real life, the true hell just might be inside the heads of the innocent men behind bars. Execution’s Doorstep tells the stories of five Death Row inmates who were eventually vindicated and freed. Anti-death penalty activist Leslie Lytle interviewed the men, their families and their principal defenders to expose the mental anguish of those awaiting the slowly moving wheels of the legal system. Her resulting account details how over-zealous cops and prosecutors, and occasionally incompetent public defenders, conspire to place men in cells barely larger than dog kennels, awaiting death. Convicted on shaky evidence, coerced testimony and dubious claims from jailhouse informants, these men had to wait years for their appeals to be processed.

Lytle’s dry prose adds few literary touches to the inherent human drama and she does little to enliven the sluggish legal system’s machinations. But she has the benefit of working with incredible stories. Other writers have chronicled similar accounts much better, including journalist John Conroy, whose reporting for the Chicago Reader was a source for Lytle’s piece on Hobley. But detailing prisoners’ slow crawls through the courts to freedom (if not justice) are precisely the type of record an advocate like Lytle wants to leave. Like similar travesties of American justice, such as Abu Ghraib, these reports prove great evil is often simply the result of laziness, incompetence and negligence.

Morgan Geist Courts His Dark Side: Double Night Time flips disco’s switch

Interview
Earplug
October 2008

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It seems like Morgan Geist should be happy. After all, a bar mitzvah is a big deal for any parent, and the producer’s label, Environ, just became a man. But, after 13 years at the helm, Geist seems to be souring on the industry that’s brought acclaim to his label, his collaborations with Metro Area, his solo albums, and his Unclassics collection (a series of offbeat and long-lost disco absurdities). It’s this frustration that informs some of the darker themes on his new solo album, Double Night Time, which features vocals from Junior Boys’ Jeremy Greenspan. Earplug contributor Patrick Sisson connected with Geist to discuss the industry’s fiery crash, the “nocebo” effect, and licensing misadventures.

Earplug: How was the Environ bar mitzvah earlier this year?
Morgan Geist: It was really fun. There’s not a lot that puts me in a good mood about music anymore. It was well attended, and a lot of old friends came. We had knishes from Knish Knosh, and I got all of their ridiculous party favors — like maracas with the Star of David on them and inflatable synthesizers. I think Environ is perceived as a serious label, so it’s fun to do something that wasn’t very serious.

EP: What’s putting you in a bad mood? What are your thoughts about the industry?
MG: What are my feelings on the Hindenburg a moment after it’s exploded? It seems like it’s in a tailspin that it’s never going to pull out of — at least in terms of recorded music. I’m happy to be proven wrong, but I don’t see how that can happen. I’ve been doing the label for so long that it’s sort of burned me out, even the creative side. Everybody has their own take. Mine is especially negative because I signed up to be a recording musician. I’m very lucky because people will have me DJ. The Internet is destroying recording musicians’ careers. It’s not hyperbole. I’m making a fraction of what I once made. I don’t want music to turn into something I hate, but it’s starting to. I need to figure out what I’m going to do — if it means quitting completely or quitting the label. But I love making music. I’m one of these people who like recorded music more than live shows, which I know is at odds with the way a lot of people feel about pop and dance music.
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Rough and Raw: Commodore Computers and Lampshade Mics Factor into Yo Majesty!’s Fresh Sound

Interview
Remix
October 2008
Link

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Few rappers, especially those with a song called “Kryptonite Pussy,” attempt to book a tour with their pastor as the opening act. But that’s the way Shunda K (LaShunda Flowers), half of black Christian lesbian rap duo Yo! Majesty, operates. As her partner Jwl B (Jewel Baynham) explains, their message is about being real without being sanctimonious.

“Don’t be afraid to be yourself, or life isn’t worth living,” Shunda K says. “Whether you’re gay, straight, homosexual or bisexual. People told us we weren’t going to make it. But we kept our eyes on the prize, and everything came to pass.”

The group’s eclectic debut, Futuristically Speaking… Never Be Afraid (Domino, 2008), lives up to that ideal of self-actualized rap that’s not too serious to party. They embrace their faith and get freaky, tackle obsessive relationships and drug dealing, all while broadening their sonic palette. When Yo! Majesty emerged from Tampa Bay in 2006 with a MySpace following and the Yo! EP — then a trio that included now-departed member Shon B. — the focus was on raucous, unapologetic lyrics and a stew of hip-hop, electro and Miami bass. Jwl’s penchant for taking off her shirt mid-performance also drew attention.

“People always say I have beautiful titties,” Jwl says. “But they also say our show was the bomb. We’re saying some real shit out of our mouths. Normally you don’t hear that out of anybody’s mouth.”
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Tussle Fight Clean: SF group moves from dub wrestling to Cream Cuts

Interview
Earplug
October 2008

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Planes of bright green figures on an Atari-like landscape of oscillating lines, vectors, and grids — these are the sorts of images that accompany performances by San Francisco’s Tussle. It’s an appropriate set of visuals for a band that creates taut, bewitching rhythms. And, with a recent series of personnel shifts — original members Nathan Burazer and drummer Jonathan Holland are now joined by fellow drummer Warren Huegel and bassist Tomo Yasuda — Tussle have added another dimension, taking their music into free-ranging, cosmic arenas. It’s fitting, then, that the band wanted to release its new album, Cream Cuts, on August 8, 2008, in honor of a certain sacrosanct Roland product. Earplug’s Patrick Sisson phoned knob twiddler Nathan Burazer to talk about music’s collective call, looking over the shoulders of giants, and how making music is like the plastic arts.

Earplug: You have an art background and often perform in galleries. What is proper gallery etiquette, and how do you score a lot of free wine?
Nathan Burazer: For us, there is no etiquette. The wine just comes, you put up your glass and they fill it up, and you do your thing and be yourself. You need to put your pinky out a bit while drinking your wine and occasionally go to the bathroom to make sure your beret looks OK.

EP: The music on Cream Cuts sounds more flexible than on previous albums. In addition to the lineup switch, how has the songwriting process changed?
NB: It was interesting. We came out of the lineup change and were like, shit, we have to write new songs. And a lot of the songs came out of samples that we had, things I had kept around from touring that we took into the studio. Over the span of two years, we added some overdubs and had a lot of back and forth. It was actually a lot like painting. Erase, paint some, sit back, look at it a couple of months later, add something, and then take it out.
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Deadbeat: Roots and Wire

Music Review
Earplug
October 2008

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As a sample on his new album suggests, Berlin-via-Montreal producer Deadbeat is adept at stripping his sleek rhythms and solid bass lines to “the skeleton of the music.” Though his sounds are indeed massive, his music doesn’t just fill out a room; it animates the space, laying down hypnotic dub beats with Basic Channel-style rhythms, before giving everything a subtle, energizing tweak. Tribal beats gradually simmer on “Grounation,” until a wave of synths pushes them to the boiling point. “Deep Structure” plays bubbly Detroit techno sounds against a mellow, clicking rhythm, and “Night Stepping” flirts with Metro Area-like sleekness, as waves of bass eddy and flow. Suffice it to say, Deadbeat’s deft, detailed touch brings a new, streamlined lightness to dub techno.

Tobacco: Fucked Up Friends

Music Review
Earplug
October 2008

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Like his work with psych-tinged noiseniks Black Moth Super Rainbow, Tobacco’s solo debut evokes nostalgia for nostalgic sounds — in this case, the warm acid tones and fuzzy analog mysticism of Boards of Canada. The signifiers are there — warbly flutes, folksy backdrops, and backspun sound effects — but rather than floating a misty interpretation of an already hazy sound, Tobacco adds a muscular, evil edge. Traversing the darker corners of BOC’s druggy rural landscapes, he revs up the tempo on tracks like “Hairy Candy” and drops heavier, juiced-up beats for “Truck Sweat” and “Gross Magik.” On the more mechanical, driving “Dirt,” rapper Aesop Rock’s guttural lyrics gel nicely. If BOC are childhood bliss borne out in a country cottage, Fucked Up Friends explores the more isolated, warped headspace in the backwoods.

Brewtopia: Portland’s Brewing Scene

Article
XLR8R
October 2008
Link

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Dylan Goldsmith, who single-handedly runs Portland’s Captured by Porches brewing operation, takes a very DIY approach by default. Every pint of the company’s beer is made in a makeshift, one-room brewery–part of the process involves a dishwasher–at Clinton Street Brewing, the brewpub that sells the bulk of Goldsmith’s beer. The home brewer was first inspired during a stint working at a grocery store, when he transformed some apple cider into hooch using an old recipe from a Food Not Bombs customer. He continued making his own beer for parties and eventually became inspired to start his own venture. One day, while biking to school with some homebrew in his backpack, he saw his friends hanging out on someone’s porch. He never made it to class that day. In a friend’s words, he was “captured by the porch.”

“My DIY ethos comes from belief that the Walmartization of America can only lead to more low-paid and meaningless jobs,” says Goldsmith. “Every bar that is moderately busy could support a full-time brewer and only sell their own beer. They would save money–one-third of the price of a keg goes to the distributor–and create a meaningful and well-paying job. I guess when gas hits $10 a gallon, the choice will be made for us anyways.”

Goldsmith is one of many independent-minded local brewers who, over the last few decades, have turned Portland into a mecca for beer lovers. Located near the biggest hops-growing regions in the United States–which account for the bold, spicy, hopped-up varieties popular in the area–Portland boasts 30 breweries within city limits (the most in the world), along with a budding-but-healthy micro-distillery scene (local Integrity Spirits just released its own absinthe).
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Interview: Mavis Staples

Interview
Pitchfork
October 21, 2008
Link

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Well Lord, I’m still on the case. I’m still doing what Dr. King and Pops want me to do. I’m still on that freedom highway, and I’m going to walk on it until Dr. King’s dream is realized.”

When Mavis Staples sang in an a cappella choir in grade school, her low singing voice was criticized by her teacher, who would say, “You’re in the basement, Mavis, you’re singing with the boys.” The constant harping made her so mad she eventually quit.

Thankfully that teacher’s opinion wasn’t the final word. Her father Roebuck “Pops” Staples, who learned guitar alongside blues legends like Charley Patton while growing up on a Mississippi plantation, made Mavis the lead in the family gospel group the Staple Singers, which started performing in Chicago in 1950. Over the course of the next few decades, that deep, roughhewn voice has been recognized as a gospel and soul treasure. The Staple Singers became a favorite of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., their music long associated with the Civil Rights struggle. Mavis later cut a solo album for Stax, had her music produced by both Prince and Curtis Mayfield and was even proposed to by Bob Dylan (“Somehow that rumor got out on this doggone internet,” she said.) Earlier this summer, Mavis recorded an album, Live: Hope at the Hideout, a timely selection of protest songs and anthems set to come out on Election Day. We spoke with the singer about her early career and her continued motivation to perform what she’s called “good news music.”

Pitchfork: Did singing and recording the new album at the Hideout remind you of the small clubs you played at when you were just starting out?
Mavis Staples: Oh yes, it did. It reminded me of places in New York, it reminded me of Club 47 in Cambridge. There is a great feeling in a small venue, with the closeness of the people and the intimacy. Those are the best. You just feel the whole scene better.

Pitchfork: I always thought it was so amazing that you and your siblings were performing in music clubs as teenagers with your dad, Pops, who managed to be a bandleader but also a good role model. Lots of parents today with children who are musicians tend to not do that so well.
MS: Our father and mom kept the role of mother and father while we were singing. When we would first go on the road, they would let us know, you stay humble. These people running up to you telling you how great you are, don’t let that go to your head. Low is the way. Pops even wrote a song called “Low Is the Way”. You stay low, not high and mighty. You don’t forget this is your gift from God, if you abuse it, it’ll be taken away from you. We were a close-knit family from day one. Our father, on Saturdays, he would take us to the movies, and make us peanut brittle candy then on Sunday mornings he would take us to church. My mother saw that he wanted to be with the children, so she just let him have it, you know? So we were with our father most of the time. Our mother was our spiritual guidance. She would pray with us and was the best cook in the world. We were taught to love our sisters and brothers, to love our neighbors, to listen to our neighbors, to respect elders. Thank the Lord we never got on the star trip. We stayed everyday people.
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