This time around, a cross-section of mostly new, mostly instrumental albums that may start in one genre but willfully refuse to stay there — with frequently bracing results. Purchase links are embedded in the artist/title listings, with any additional purchase links for physical media at the end of a review and streaming access following.
Bass Communion, The Itself of Itself: We can’t say Steven Wilson doesn’t warn us on the album sleeve: “audio artefacts and noise such as tape hiss, wow and flutter, vinyl crackle, distortion and earth hum are (probably) deliberate.” Delving into his longstanding experimental/electronic doom-drone persona, Wilson once again abandons melody and rhythm to slap down raw sonic textures and grind them together across extended time spans. The results range from arresting (the relentless build of horror-soundtrack opener “Unperson”, the uneasy, alarming stasis of the title piece) to utterly forgettable (when my dehumidifier kicked in during “Study for Tape Hiss and Other Artefacts”, I really thought it was part of the track). Am I finally sussing out (as some have theorized) Wilson’s extended con of the prog world? Getting a sneak peek of his 2025 solo album The Overview? Or hearing the latest from an artist who just does whatever he wants and doesn’t particularly care how possessive fans get about him? I’m a diehard Wilson fan, but when it comes to Bass Communion, your guess as to his motivation is probably as good as mine. (Order the CD from Burning Shed here.)
Can, Live in Aston 1977: Krautrock’s most thoroughly improvisational outfit got thoroughly funky in the late ’70s, courtesy of Rosko Gee, Jamaican bassist of no mean ability. With Gee powering the beat and previous bassist Holger Czukay dialing up snippets from shortwave radio and tape libraries, this version of Can is rhythmically tighter and tonally looser at the same time. That means Michael Karoli has more room to howl on guitar, Irmin Schmidt can conjure thicker clouds and launch edgier thunderbolts from his keyboards, and drummer Jaki Liebezeit can drill down into his unstoppable, drily metronomic groove. The clangorous solo section of “Drei” (enticing in its ambiguity – who’s playing this crazy thing that sounds like a bell choir in hyperdrive?) and the insistent, stonking, organ-led groove of “Vier” are high points. A solid addition to this fine archival series of vintage concerts.
The Revolutionary Army of the Infant Jesus, The Dream We Carry: RAIJ’s 2020 effort Songs of Yearning was my Top Favorite album of that strange year; I called it “a sacramental transmission from, then to, the heart of creation.” The Liverpool “experimental arthouse collective” has reduced its core personnel and pared back its weirdness ever so slightly, but their inviting mélange of reflection and insistence, sacred and profane persist. Jesse Main’s vocals and Eliza Carew’s cello gracefully arc over Paul Boyce and Leslie Hampson’s lush instrumental backing; on multi-track suites like “Les Fils des Etoiles” through “Object of Desire”, fragments of multilingual poems, songs and spoken word rise from nowhere, become incarnate, declare their tidings, then disappear into a wistful bed of chamber and orchestral tone color. Like RAIJ’s entire catalog, The Dream We Carry testifies to mystery tucked within the mundane, exemplified by album ender “The Song of Wandering Aengus”; it’s an eloquent yet elusive invitation to encounter the Spirit active at the heart of the fields we know.
Rich Ruth, Water Still Flows: Reviewing 2022’s I Survived, It’s Over, my thumbnail sketch of Nashville guitarist Rich Ruth pointed to him as RAIJ’s American counterpart — but on the evidence of his latest, that assessment sells him short. For Water Still Flows, Ruth adds massive slabs of dark metal riffage to his already potent mix of cosmic ambience, celebratory spiritual jazz, and slow-crawling post-rock. Opener “Action at a Distance” feels like a heftier “Won’t Get Fooled Again”; marauding power chords choke off the luxuriant strings of “God Won’t Speak”; the blissful comedown of “Somewhere in Time” sticks a soft landing after the devastating climax of “Aspiring to the Sky”. With an eclectic ensemble of sax, harp, and pedal steel plus Ruth’s frenetic axework anchored by Reuben Gingrich’s crashing drums, this album is a mighty, impeccably shaped tone poem that once again journeys through pain and catastrophe to refreshment and renewal. (Order the LP or CD from Third Man Records here.)
Soft Machine, Høvikodden 1971: The seminal British jazz-rock band at its creative peak, recorded over two nights at a Norwegian arts center. At each show, Mike Ratledge’s inimitable fuzz organ takes command; multi-saxist Elton Dean lets loose with an unending stream of raucous Coltrane licks; Hugh Hopper’s bass swarms, clambers and climbs, refusing to stay on the low end; Robert Wyatt’s limber drumming seethes, weaving through the tonal murk at will. Sometimes locking together in breathtaking unison, sometimes scattering to widely separated corners, the Softs approach classic material like “Facelift”, “Fletcher’s Blend” and “Out-Bloody-Rageous” from vastly different perspectives at different shows; the first night is a anarchic fireworks display, gobsmacking in its sweep, while the second night channels the quartet’s energy into a thrilling, thrusting sense of unified drive (albeit with laid back interludes). There’s tons of live Soft Machine available, but this newly released box set is a genuine high point of their already formidable discography.
Billy Strings, Live Vol. 1: I’ve gotta admit, I’m late to the party here; before a recent sojourn in Nashville and a resulting reacquaintance with all things Americana, I had missed out on the mightiest musician to hail from Michigan in a long, long time. Strings is, without a doubt, the real deal: a virtuoso guitarist, a first-rate singer and a songwriter who’s already shown signs of true, durable greatness. On his first live release, he and his band turn gritty evocations of small-town vice (“Dust in a Baggie,” “Turmoil and Tinfoil”) and poetic contemplations of the bigger picture (“Long Forgotten Dream”, “Fire Line/Reuben’s Train”) into unabashed, dynamic bluegrass brilliance, stirring in proggy interplay and psychedelic seasoning, stretching out their jams for maximum tension and impact, but with nary a wasted note or a thoughtless lick. This is an absolutely smashing major label debut, a snapshot of a phenomenon in perpetual motion, the music grounded in Strings’ heart as well as his fearsome chops, and already on my Favorites list for this year. (Strings’ next studio album, Highway Prayers, has just been announced for a September 27 release.)
Mark Wingfield, The Gathering: Nightmarish complications severely curtailed MoonJune Records’ ability to sell this beauty on CD — which is a shame, because it may be British fusionist Wingfield’s most accomplished and focused effort to date. Languorous, enticing compositions like “Apparition in the Vaults”, “A Fleeting Glance” and “Cinnamon Bird” consistently take flight here: Wingfield’s guitar traces ecstatic melodic parabolas and sparse changes; Gary Husband colors the soundscape with juicy pads, inspired atmospheres and choice accents on piano and synth; Asaf Sirkis lays down a spacious, unshakeable polyrhythmic grid to propel things forward. What makes this even more of a killer session is the overdubbed bass contributions of King Crimson’s Tony Levin (focusing on active, rich-toned counterpoint) and Brand X’s Percy Jones (bubbling under with his unique tone and angular comping). It’s daring and delightful from start to finish, as an all-star lineup of truly great players work with total concentration and dedication, and make this sophisticated yet accessible music their own.
— Rick Krueger
The Gong Farmers, Guano Junction, Spaceward Records, November 5, 2021
Progarchy 