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Number One of Three As the unquestioned leader (dictator?) of Swans, Michael Gira imbued everything from dense, sludgy dirges to airy, orchestrated hymns with a sense of disturbance--even the tamest of his works were fraught with melancholy and menace. Now Swans are gone, but this Body Lovers project is an incisive continuation of his past obsessions; in fact, Number One of Three is, for all intents and purposes, Soundtracks for the Blind (Swans' last album) without the singing. The full-album opus, first in an intended trilogy, is divided into 10 sections. Part One sets a claustrophobic tone as drones swarm about in threatening clouds. Part Two offers respite via accordion, acoustic guitar and throaty sobs from Gira's partner, Jarboe. Then it's back to a slow burn climaxing midway through Part Four, wherein atonal piano chords stomp down a deserted hallway, later filled with electronic chirrs and a whirring, rattling machine. Parts 8-10 relax with sedate spaciousness and major-key accents. After lulling the listener into a trance, the album ends abruptly--it stops mid-note--leaving one parched in anticipation of the follow-up. Bring it on, my ears thirst for more. John Graham
Angels with Dirty Faces Tricky Tricky's been featured on MTV, spent the summer of '97 on the road with Lollapalooza and has tons of radio play. But his music--which combines elements of everything from rock to hip-hop--is so dark and unrelentingly dismal that its mass appeal surprises. Is it merely blind adoration for the newest pop icon or is his music truly worthy of this attention? Judging from Angels with Dirty Faces, it seems to be a combination of both. There's no doubt that Tricky is a talented and innovative musician. Angels contains 12 songs, each sounding distinctly different from the next. "The Moment I Feared" features his guttural growl layered over drum 'n' bass; traditional gospel is found on "Broken Homes"; the song "Demise" is a futuristic dub extravaganza. What makes his music so much more appealing is the leftism in each of his songs. The horrors of the 300-year British colonization of Jamaica, corporate greed and the connections between poverty, classism and racism are just a few of the issues Tricky tackles; the dark quality of songs such as "Money Greed" or "Tear My Eyes Out" dramatically complements the disturbing lyrics. David Kihara
Piss Frond Mark Spybey of Dead Voices on Air is known for smearing washes of weird sound effects across every album like butter on bread. While he usually just troops out the loops for 20 minutes, on Piss Frond he dabbles with actual structure. (On the first disc, anyway--disc two buzzes with enough beehive drones to happily zonk any post-industrial stoner.) In the very beginning, the keyboards that burble across "Geong G'uma"--most Spybey titles sound like lost cities in Wales or H.P. Lovecraft monsters--cascade into a simple chord progression while electronically mangled wood instruments blow out a harmony and drums keep a distinct rhythm. There's even what could be construed as a bridge in that river of synths. "Sulphur" features the pseudonymous Sugarpill singing real lyrics, not Spybey's abstract babble. "Foss Maerum" forwards a bass melody from the Legendary Pink Dots' Ryan Moore. And "Castered Carts" drifts with a drumbeats-meet-diva prettiness reminiscent of Delerium. Will this add up to be DVOA's big crossover album? Only if Trent Reznor is elected president. Piss Frond is far too impenetrably idiosyncratic to breach the mainstream market, but if Spybey's trying to shoot straighter, he's hit the bull's eye. John Graham
originally published August 12, 1998
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