Noted designer, visual artist, and Ghost Box label founder Julian House returns with a new album under his Focus Group moniker, and it's easily the best, most consistent record he's yet produced. I'll admit that while I love House's work across the board -- visually, sonically, aesthetically -- his outings as the Focus Group have left me somewhat disappointed at times; his dense, intricate sample collages were prone to suffer from the same attention deficit, splice-'em-up frenzy as a Madlib beat tape, and you'd often be left with a big pile of wonderful ideas whose potential was seemingly half-realized. Then Broadcast entered the picture, enlisting House's assistance on a series of excellent releases that stitched the final seam into his psychedelic Technicolor dreamcoat. What James Cargill and Trish Keenan brought into the Focus Group universe was a subtle but important skeleton to the intense spectrality of House's collage work, and it seems that their collaborations have instilled Elektrik Karousel with an energy and unified purpose that easily makes this the most accomplished album House has yet created.

Upon the opening samples, there's no mistaking that this is his work, as all of the key ingredients are there; the warbling wow and flutter of antiquated recordings of electric pianos, harpsichord minuets, chirping flutes, and frenzied jazz drum fills are combined with endlessly reverberating sound effects, touches of dub and Radiophonic wizardry, and heavy nods to the acousmatic school of musique concrete composers. What sets Elektrik Karousel apart from his previous releases, though, is a more unified, overarching theme and pace; it often plays as a lovely counterpart to his Investigate Witch Cults of the Radio Age album with Broadcast, as it is perfumed by the same supernatural muskiness as that record. Close inspection of the liner notes reveal that Broadcast actually contributed samples and recordings for House to use on this album, tying these themes together even more tightly, and while it remains an entirely instrumental affair, it is not to be missed by fans of Broadcast's last few efforts, not to mention the more mind-expanding elements of 1960s electronic experimentation. This is easily the most "psychedelic" dispatch from Ghost Box to date, and House is to be commended on the renewed vigor, enthusiasm, and yes, focus to the work that he's released here. Longtime fans should very much enjoy this, but if you've been hesitant or afraid to take the plunge with House thus far, this is easily, along with the aforementioned Witch Cults album, the best entry point into his world. I love this. [IQ]

While the album might seem to lack a spine (i.e. a back beat), it holds together well, with bass guitar and drums providing rhythm if not drive, and organ, piano, and synthesizer, along with lots of unique acoustic sound sources -- glass, rototoms, chromatic gongs, un-pitched percussion, and magnetic resonator piano, to name a few -- adding lush coloring. Like the music of Talk Talk, Arthur Russell, or Current 93, TNP explores moody orchestral pop with touches of stern British folk, full of deep ambiance and broad landscapes that create a stark yet rich tapestry of floating passion, sparse melody, open atmosphere, and tightly arranged restraint. With every full-length the band seems to shapeshift into a new form; I've always found a lot to like about the group in the past, and here they have really created an original, engaging, and accomplished album that they previously never quite seemed capable of (or interested in) realizing. It's a nice surprise to see a band branch out, mature, and explore new territory with such great results. Fans of minimal orchestral rock such as Dirty Projectors, Antony, How to Dress Well, or any of the above mentioned should definitely check out These New Puritans. Definitely not the group you thought you knew, and probably better than you remember. Either way, recommended. [DG]

It's been just a couple of years since we last heard from Essie Jain, with her Until the Light of Morning album. This charming 2011 collection of lullabies was a bit of an outlier for the British-born, Brooklyn settled singer, but it came from a similar tradition as a pair of lovely records that Jain released in the half-decade prior which also explored British folk melodies in her own dreamy and low-key modern style. With three albums down, some nice reviews, and a handful of committed fans around the world, Jain had reached some sort of a crossroads in her creative life, and this is where the story of All Became Golden picks up. More than just a new record, this album -- and the accompanying film, which is streaming in full right here -- is a deep look at the meaning of art, of creative passion and personal identity.

As Jain tells the story, she had basically stopped playing music at all for a time, beaten down by the struggle of putting so much of her heart and soul (and money and time) into a muse that had given relatively little back over the years; so she quit singing and tried to settle into the rest of her life, until her friend Natalie Johns wrote another chapter into Jain's musical story. A longtime fan as well as an accomplished filmmaker and video producer (whom many of our readers will know from the Live at Other Music video series she created, and as a co-producer of the Other Music SXSW Lawn Parties), Johns wanted to see her friend pursuing her life's dream again, and also wanted to make a feature-length documentary that truly captured creativity in action, exploring the making of an album not as some dusty artifact to be investigated, but in real time, and with the film as an integral part of the process -- a "film record."

The concept Jain and Johns came up with for the album was almost like a fantasy camp for Jain, taking a set of her songs -- mostly new, with a couple of older originals and heartfelt covers -- and giving them to the young avant-classical star Nico Muhly to arrange and conduct for a small ensemble. Jain and Muhly met only briefly off-camera to start the process, and while the songs were written and arranged out of sight, the rest of the creative process is captured on film, in a gorgeous studio in midtown Manhattan, where Jain, Muhly and the musicians rehearsed and recorded this lush, idyllic and sweetly emotional album, with Jain's silky voice and Muhly's subtly stunning arrangements for strings, woodwinds, harp, piano, string bass and guitar coming together as if in a dream. The film beautifully shows every track on All Became Golden being recorded live, and intersperses it all with behind-the-scenes moments and thoughtful interviews with Jain and Muhly about the process and the experience -- in Jain's case, a lot of back story on both the song meanings and origins, but also the overall picture of her musical and personal history and ambitions seen through the lens of this experience. It's a deeply intimate look into the heart of an artist many of you don't know at all, and perhaps has more universal relevance for just that reason. As narrator Martin Mills (yes, that Martin Mills) says in the intro, "Essie Jain is just like you and I. She dreamed of great love and true happiness."

As far as the actual music and the CD we have for sale, fans of Jain's previous work are sure to love All Became Golden, for while it is a fresh start and undoubtedly adds a lot of layers and colors to her often bare sound, it never loses any of the intimacy and texture that have always made Jain's singing stand out. The orchestration is truly lovely, a playful and emotional expansion of these simple chords and melodies that manages to add so much to these songs without ever cluttering the pure and central essence of her voice. Mixed by Bob Clearmountain, the album is warm, natural, but meticulously detailed, and the best tracks, like "Glory" or Jain's take on Dire Strait's "Why Worry," are classics that could easily bring her singing to a much wider audience than she has ever approached before. Whether or not that will happen is a big question the film implies without ever directly asking; Jain had basically given up on writing and performing until she woke up one day and made some of the best music of her life. Yes, these songs are the stuff of dreams and whatever the origin myth we see playing out here, All Became Golden is a great record that succeeds on the strength of Jain's haunting voice, Muhly's deeply engaging orchestration, and on its own terms. [JM]

Finally, two of Asmus Tietchens' seminal albums from his 1981-83 Zeitzeichen ("time signal") period get a glorious re-issue from Bureau B. Those who know Tietchens from his later, more abstract work or earlier electronic and musique concrète achievements, might be surprised by the sardonic pseudo-pop sensibility he displays throughout this stage of his career. It's often through the quirky, yet occasionally sweeping, and dissonant avant-synth miniatures of these records that he truly pushes the expectations and possibilities of the pop vernacular. Yet surprisingly enough, the majority of this supposedly lighter period foreshadows the often dark and gothic nature of later work, of which snippets come creeping through in the strangest fashion. Take "Miss Ann Trope" from Biotop, a somewhat disturbing sounding ambient pop exploration with eerie synth squeaks and a slowly throbbing rhythm. The inspired word play of its title might be an early indication of his later use of quotes from the notoriously nihilistic Romanian philosopher Emil Cioran, whereas its unconventional sonic palette announces the industrial avant-garde soundscapes that later emerged on Former Letzter Hausmusik, from '84.

If Biotop, with its disjointed rhythms and tumbling melodies, lauds a dystopian future, then Spät-Europa (Late-Europe) is a remarkably tongue-in-cheek assault on European high and low culture. Its eponymous opening track starts with a serene church choir, the only non-electronic sound on the record, which gets cut short by an oblique synth melody and weirdly shuffling rhythm. On this album Tietchens perfects the compositional methods started on Biotop, something that is all the more impressive given that he is adhering to a self-imposed restriction. With a greater focus on form and economy, each of the tracks is supposed to last only two minutes, but Tietchens, lacking the proper technical means, constantly misses his ideal target with a few seconds. The inherent beauty of such unintentional errors and inexactitudes enhances Spät-Europa's deceptive nature. Track titles are stuffed with wordplays and parodies, with Tietchens' social commentary marked by the greatest irony and detachment. Through this approach, he succeeds in evoking the great German musical tradition of irreverent and at times outright funny cultural critique, which originated decades before in the cabarets of Berlin, while injecting the undoubtedly pop framework of this strange record with some of the radical sound experiments of the historical avant-garde. [NVT]

Medicine's first full-band album in 18 years, featuring the original line-up, is surprisingly on par with their best work. Led by guitarist Brad Laner, the California group's dreamy noise-pop signature is still firmly in place, yet there are some slightly more psychedelic touches here, made most clear by the inclusion of the piano on several tracks. Overall, however, it does sound like the band picked up right from where they left off, and that's no complaint, as 1992's Shot Forth Self Living and 1993's The Buried Life (both recently reissued by Captured Tracks) were, in my opinion, two of the best records of that period.

One thing that has always set Medicine apart from other rock combos is that Jim Goodall is a drummer's drummer. His playing has a certain swing to it that makes anything placed on top of it immediately head-nod inducing -- check "Burn It," where Goodall marries a John Bonham backbeat to Laner and Jim Putnam's blurry guitar work for a completely blissful, woozy effect. Yet as washed out and atmospheric as they get, the group have always managed to bury a pop song in there somewhere. As far as I'm concerned, the arrival of a new Medicine album is just as exciting as the recent release of My Bloody Valentine's long-awaited follow-up to Loveless. I don't care what year it is, I'm just glad to have one of my favorite bands of all time back in action and producing work every bit as good as they were in their heyday. [NN]

Infamous American entertainer Andy Kaufman never considered himself a comedian. He insisted that he was a "song and dance man," and while many of his routines and performances indeed involved plenty of singing and dancing, his first album is surprisingly not based around such a concept. Kaufman is believed to have passed away in 1984 after a battle with cancer, but to this day many hardcore fans (myself included) have wanted to believe that he, following a series of increasingly complex and multilayered performance art pranks, had faked his own death. However one chooses to categorize Kaufman, one thing was certain: he was a master provocateur, never breaking character to spoil the joke to such extreme degrees that few people took his death seriously, considering it the ultimate prank.

This concept is discussed toward the end of Andy and His Grandmother, an album assembled from over 80 hours of recordings made by Kaufman with portable tape recorders which feature him in conversation with assorted individuals (his grandmother included), and which offer more candid glimpses at both his more famous public persona, but also at the man behind the many masks. It plays more as a collage of vignettes than as scripted skits, with the occasional foray into absurdity (his heated exchanges with an ornery, squealing pig are a particular highlight). Much of the record involves him in seemingly serious, philosophical conversation with a group of prostitutes, and much like his intergender wrestling performances, or his film My Breakfast with Blassie, the line where performer and everyman are divided is practically nonexistent. The album does little to really shine light on Kaufman's private life, and while it may not be of interest to those who aren't already fans of his work, it's a beautiful, hilarious, more candid look at the man's brilliance. [IQ]

Included with the Captured Tracks reissue is the excellent Whack Me Down EP from 1985, which is more subdued and closer in spirit to the Bats' Daddy's Highway, or a Feelies album at half speed. [MS]

MATTHEW E. WHITE
Big Inner
(Domino)

"One of These Days"
"Will You Love Me"

Matthew E. White's Big Inner was store favorite at Other Music last year when first released on the Hometapes label. The record appeared on our Best 30 of 2012 list as well as many other critics lists, and subsequently Domino Recording Co. stepped in and are now releasing this great album to the world over. If you missed this one last time, now's your chance. Here's what we wrote we first covered Big Inner in the Update last year.

I'll be blunt and to the point here -- this is one of the best debut albums I've heard not only this year, but in a good long while. Matthew E. White's stellar Big Inner came seemingly from out of nowhere and pretty much smacked me upside the head with its sly, subtle, understated beauty and loping, stoned funk grooves. Much has been said in the press about White's outspoken love of Randy Newman, and while I certainly hear that in the album's dry wit and biting character portraits, there's much more going on here. He ably and skillfully blends breathtaking string and horn arrangements, restrained guitar and piano melodies, robust gospel choruses, and hypnotic New Orleans funk straight out of the Toussaint family, and ties them all together with his softly murmured croon, gently purring lyrics like a sarcastic cat who's soaked up too much secondhand weed smoke. The final product plays like a funky Southern soul take on the sound perfected by Jim O'Rourke on his classic Eureka album, and it's obvious that White is a similarly diverse and eclectic collusionist who delights in subtle references to his loves throughout the record's arrangements. Much has been said in other reviews of the album's closing mantra of "Jesus Christ is my lord; Jesus Christ, he is my friend," but no one seems to realize that he's not getting heavy and dogmatic on you, he's actually paying tribute to one of my favorite Jorge Ben songs, the epic "Brother" from A Tabua de Esmeralda. White's posed on the record's cover next to paintings of King Tubby and Dr. John, and the swooning Bacharach/Newman worship actually sharpens his impact rather than diluting it, with much of that thanks to the strength of the songs themselves. I've listened to this album on solid repeat for the past week, and I say without hesitation that it is lodged firmly toward the top of my list of 2012's best records. [IQ]

THIS WEEK'S CONTRIBUTORS

[ACo] Anastasia Cohen
[DG] Daniel Givens
[GH] Gerald Hammill
[IQ] Mikey IQ Jones
[JM] Josh Madell
[MM] Matthew Malone
[NN] Ning Nong
[MS] Michael Stasiak
[NVT] Niels Van Tomme



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