Black Dice: Mr. Impossible

BLACK DICE: MR. IMPOSSIBLE (2012)

1) Pinball Wizard; 2) Rodriguez; 3) The Jacker; 4) Pigs; 5) Spy Vs. Spy; 6) Outer Body Drifter; 7) Shithouse Drifter; 8) Carnitas; 9) Brunswick Sludge (Meets Front Range Tripper).

At last, a marginal improvement over the last three albums. No, it does not reinstate the early vibe of Creature Comforts (although ʽPigsʼ has pig sounds, and that seems like a benevolent throw­back), but there is one important change: Mr. Impossible focuses less on noise and more on, let's say, «melody» — apparently, the Brooklyn boys have had enough of «abrasiveness» for abrasive­ness' sake and have started thinking about subtlety and about impregnating the listener's mind rather than just flooding his braincells with one shock effect after another until the brain works out an immunity and begins boring you to death.

Like Load Blown, this album also begins with a «song» whose title has been arrogantly pinched from a hit — but just as the original ʽPinball Wizardʼ is a great song where the original ʽKokomoʼ is a catchy pile of horsedung, so is this ʽPinball Wizardʼ a curious and mildly impressive compo­sition where the «alternate ʽKokomoʼ» was just a head-splitting electronic siren run in bubbly mode. Here, we have a deconstructed electronic blues-based bassline, a fuzzy, digitally treated lead guitar wail in the style of Belew-era King Crimson, and a signature change midway through that transforms the song from a threatening «electronic avantgarde jazz» tune into a fast-paced electronic «New Wave rocker». It isn't a triumph of boundless creativity / originality, but it is at least an optimistic introduction that, if anything, states that the band has once again begun to put in some thought about quality control.

The record does get fairly uneven, and some of the tracks are quite comparable in dullness to REPO, but ʽPinball Wizardʼ is not a fluke — for every composition that still begs the question "why do I have to listen to this in the first place?", there is one other with a well-explored nifty idea or two. For instance, ʽThe Jackerʼ has a classy math-rockish guitar part, where the ins­tru­ment, true to the song title, is made to sound like a huge jackhammer or drill, but not in a way where you just push it in and loop the effect to infinity — no, rather imitating a real life process where you have to twirl it and twist it and plunge it and withdraw it based on the circumstances. (Why the people at Pitchfork called the song «jazzy» and stated that it «swings», I'll never know, but then, if a song sounds like a malfunctioning jackhammer to one person and like a swinging jazz tune to another, it is already sort of a good sign). And ʽPigsʼ, like I said, does deliver the promised goods in the form of digital pig grunting — more like ʽAttack Of The Killer Robot Pigsʼ than just ʽPigsʼ if you ask me, and kinda fun if you keep thinking about it like that.

ʽOuter Body Drifterʼ, seemingly inspired by some break dance soundtrack from the 1980s, is not particularly interesting by itself (too noisy without being too funky), but it is made more interes­ting by being immediately followed by its Doppelgänger, ʽShithouse Drifterʼ, whose electronic bleeps and blasts seem only marginally different, but as the title provokes you to start thinking of them in terms of farts, dumps, and... uh, never mind, this wasn't supposed to be taking a scatolo­gical turn, but somehow it's always more amusing to see an electronic artist with a toilet sense of humor than, say, a hardcore punk artist with a toilet sense of humor.

Funny (or not so funny) tidbits like these are not enough to properly conceptualize the record, or save about half of it from being traditionally pedestrian, but still, finally, for the first time in eight years it seems like Black Dice might be back on... well, on a road to something rather than just blindly groping through the desert. At the very least, I am glad that Bjorn Copeland has once more taken up a bit of «creative guitar playing», rather than merely using guitar strings like an alternate way of generating digital signals; in fact, integrating ye olde «Frippertronics» with the modern digital madness of the likes of The Animal Collective might be a viable path to follow, provided they really have no more interest in developing their original «psycho-nature electro­nics» schtick — quite a pitiable decision, if you ask me.

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Black Dice: Repo

BLACK DICE: REPO (2009)

1) Nite Creme; 2) Glazin; 3) Earnings Plus Interest; 4) Whirligig; 5) La Cucaracha; 6) Idiots Pasture; 7) Lazy TV; 8) Buddy; 9) Ten Inches; 10) Chicken Shit; 11) Vegetable; 12) Urban Supermist; 13) Ultra Vomit Craze; 14) Gag Shack.

Albums like these easily get me confused. There is no denying that, once again, Black Dice are working, and trying, and honestly looking for new ideas and new ways of expression — and yet, not a single one of these ideas registers anywhere, not a single second of this album carries... nay, produces the impression of carrying some sort of meaning. If anything, they are even busier and fussier here than they were before, but what for? Beats me.

There is a track here called ʽUltra Vomit Crazeʼ. Now I cannot count myself as a major fan of vomit craze, or vomit in general, but I can admit that a certain musical allegory of an abstract «vomit craze» might have an interesting realization. The problem is that the track has nothing about it that would really come close to a «vomit craze». In reality, it is six and a half minutes of a boring trip-hop rhythm with three or four grumbly electronic loops and some echoey Tarzan-style battle cries in the background. Uh... okay. What am I supposed to do with those? It's way too repetitive to be «normal music» and too poorly put together to become a «sonic painting» of any sort. Maybe if you put on your headphones, inhale some wormwood, stand on your head, and play it backwards, you are guaranteed to «get it», but I dare not try.

Supposedly, some of the tracks are multi-level deconstructions — ʽLa Cucarachaʼ would suggest that they are making fun of Latin music, and if you listen hard enough, you can track down cer­tain mutated variations on various Latin rhythms at the beginning of the track, but by the third minute, they are all forgotten in favor of rapidly shifting quirky electronic patterns that sound like a bunch of robots having nothing better to do on a Saturday evening, sitting on the porch and playing some of their jugband robot blues. Wait, that actually might sound intriguing — in reality, these loops are nothing like robot blues. They are just... loops. They mean nothing to me, and I would be very much surprised if they meant anything to you. (Then again, one Amazon reviewer did find this to be «one of the most rewarding listens of my life» — I sure wish he'd donated some of his DNA to a respectable scientific institution).

Nor does it help them in any way when they cut down on the overall number of «epics» and start working on laconic ideas — there are several very brief links here that run from twenty seconds to just over a minute, and some of the loop-based «songs» have the length of an old-fashioned pop single, but what good is multiplying and dissecting your ideas if they all suck? It only helps perpetuate the idea that Black Dice are, in fact, devoid of proper talent, and their squandering away their original act was like Samson cutting his own hair for no other reason than... being an idiot? Thumbs down in certified disgust and disappointment.

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Black Dice: Load Blown

BLACK DICE: LOAD BLOWN (2007)

1) Kokomo; 2) Roll Up; 3) Gore; 4) Bottom Feeder; 5) Scavenger; 6) Drool; 7) Toka Toka; 8) Cowboy Soundcheck; 9) Bananas; 10) Manoman.

Well, yes, that is right, except for a small correction: the real load was blown two albums ago. This one is more like «blowing steam», if you ask me. A little more impressive on the whole than Broken Ear Record, but still not enough to impress yours truly like the band's original master­pieces. At least the album sleeve picture is nicer than last time around, too.

If anything, this whole thing simply sounds like a fussy soundtrack to a video game — some sort of a racing simulator where you have to drive your amphibian vehicle through all sorts of force fields, lava pools, underground factory corridors, and, occasionally, underwater routes. Under the right circumstances, the experience could be fun, but it's all really been done before, many times, and besides, it might have worked better with an actual video game at your disposal — it is really odd when you have to let your imagination work out the details of a frickin' video game (I usually try to reserve it for somewhat loftier goals).

With ʽKokomoʼ, you'd probably expect a deconstruction of the Beach Boys song, but I do not discern even a trace of sampling — only an endless series of electronic swoops and wobbly dis­torted vocals in the background. The effect is psychedelic all right, but it is the kind of psyche­delia that is usually produced by a couple of kids fooling around with some digital equipment... in other words, nothing out of the ordinary. ʽRoll Upʼ follows with seven minutes of completely re­placeable sounds — meaning that you probably have to put on your headphones, lie on the floor, and let yourselves go for those seven minutes, otherwise you won't be able to connect with the greatness inside and outside of you. Unfortunately, I hate lying on the floor, and taking this in while sitting straight up did not do a thing. (Neither am I a fan of race simulators, which this track recalls vividly — every once in a while, there's an engine revving up like somebody just rammed the gas pedal right into the floor).

The record briefly perks up in its second half, when some of the tracks start going easier on the noise and subtler on the atmosphere: ʽDroolʼ has a slight samba feel to it, with buzzing insects representing a hot summer day somewhere in the tropics; ʽToka Tokaʼ is all built on electronic monkey mating calls, and is the one composition on here that could have easily fit on Creature Comforts; and the album closer ʽManomanʼ is built on trivial sonic sequences, so simple and stu­pid they can't help but infect you — after all, if an album makes you feel like an idiot, it is still better than when it does not make you feel anything at all.

But even these tracks seem more like fortuitous exceptions, because, second time around, Black Dice are compromising their original vision — sacrificing it in favor of ideas like «loudness» and «rhythm», which everyone has in spades. I am not informed of what had happened; maybe they really, really wanted for their music to be played on the club scene, which is, indeed, not the best environment for Creature Comforts. If so, this is all a shameful «sellout», never mind that they are still being experimental and «formally creative». Or, perhaps, they themselves did not manage to understand what an imaginative wonder those early sonic scapes were. In any case, I see no reason for anyone to bother with the likes of Load Blown when there is, oh, I dunno, the entire catalogs of Vangelis and Klaus Schulze to explore before that.

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Black Dice: Broken Ear Record

BLACK DICE: BROKEN EAR RECORD (2005)

1) Snarly Yow; 2) Smiling Off; 3) Heavy Manners; 4) ABA; 5) Street Dude; 6) Twins; 7) Motorcycle.

No, no, not that way! To me, this album is about as big a disappointment as its cover, which seems more fit for a gonzo porn DVD (granted, one with a psychedelic flavor) than a collection of atmospheric electronic soundscapes. With just a few exceptions, they have turned their atten­tion to noise, and I don't mean jungle noise or animal noise or wind-in-the-trees noise, I mean kaleidoscopic loops of industrial / computer-ish noise that, for the most part, do not translate into anything meaningful. From having gone beyond the Animal Collective, they have now reverted to behaving like a second-rate Animal Collective. Why?..

One big change is that they decide to re-introduce rhythmic patterns, so you can tap your foot to most of these «tunes» if you feel like it. A big potential problem with the rhythmic pattern, how­ever, is that it can be looped forever without any interesting additions — as it does happen on both ʽSnarly Yowʼ and ʽSmiling Offʼ that open the album. The former consists of two or three se­parate, but similar, parts that are too busy shimmering and glimmering in their electronic beauty to ever go somewhere. The latter behaves in a more distorted and schizophrenic manner, before eventually settling into a «madhouse march», driven by pseudo-Mellotron and idiot vocal harmo­nies — you are welcome to take it if you are interested, but I want my jungle life back.

Eventually, it sort of dawns on you that the band simply has had enough of beaches, canyons, and jungles, and wants to get back to the big city. ʽStreet Dudeʼ, let alone the title, is chock-full of urban noise, for instance, and ʽMotorcycleʼ speaks for itself as well — actually, I think ʽMotor­cycleʼ is the only genuinely exciting number on here, basically an electronic comedy piece, with the band trying to start off their chopper for about seven minutes and getting nowhere fast (so in­stead they just have to push and lug it around, yelling and yodeling to the rhythm of the slowly turning wheels).

But before you get to that final number, you have to deal with the rest — and the rest does not connect, no matter how hard I try. The sound palette on Creature Comforts was truly unique, or even if it was not, it still translated to vivid images in the head. ʽSnarly Yowʼ adds nothing to the accomplishments of the industrial and «freak-electronic» scene, and neither expands my mind nor entertains it. Basically, the guys just lost their angle, simple as that — not that there is anything un­usual about it, they just went the standard route of so many other 21st century artists: say it all first or second time around, then stick around for another decade with third-rate product, instead of doing the right thing by switching to another profession. Thumbs down.

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Black Dice: Creature Comforts

BLACK DICE: CREATURE COMFORTS (2004)

1) Cloud Pleaser; 2) Treetops; 3) Island; 4) Creature; 5) Live Loop; 6) Skeleton; 7) Schwip Schwap; 8) Night Flight.

In our era of «one-album bands», there was no obligation whatsoever for Black Dice to top their initial success — but they still went ahead and did exactly that with Creature Comforts, which is, in my opinion, their absolute peak and a major highlight of the decade's non-dancefloor-oriented electronic music in general. Not only that, it is one of the most aurally perfect «Psycho-Tarzan» albums ever recorded... so to speak.

Several of the composition titles are indicative of the atmospherics, with references to «islands», «clouds», «treetops», and «creatures» lurking in and out of the landscape. The difference from the usual procedure is that they are genuinely indicative. Where Beaches And Canyons was still sort of all over the place, and some of it worked explicitly on placing you, the listener, on a beach or inside a canyon, and some of it just made bizarre noises, Creature Comforts, from start to finish almost without exceptions, works on transporting you to a mystery island and stranding you there for about 45 minutes (which, by the way, is quite a sparing amount of time: electronic artists tend to make full advantage of the average CD length, as it gives them the opportunity to explore all the nuances of potential of their favorite loops, bells, and whistles — but Black Dice, starting with their second album, have decided to spare our time, and must be thanked for that).

Of course, part of that magic comes from the fact that the band, with its «real instruments» past, does not limit itself to computers and synthesizers, but uses them in conjunction with guitars, real (if treated) percussion, and other stuff. Thus, the brief opener ʽCloud Pleaserʼ is seemingly based on a simple, see-sawing, «kiddie-avantgarde» guitar loop, and all the cute little electronic appari­tions cluster around it, popping in and out of the «clouds». Chain-looped jangly drone is also at the heart of ʽTreetopsʼ, although it is not as much in the listener's face as are all the back-and-forth rockings of the treetops in question — along with flocks of birds, howls of monkeys, chirps and squeeks of small rodents in the branches, and, as strange as it may seem, sounds of crying babies, or maybe that is just another sonic illusion caused by the interference of all the different waves up there in the air.

The album really hits its stride with ʽCreatureʼ, all suspense and intrigue that never really comes to the surface — imagine yourself traveling on a narrow jungle path from one end of the forest to the other, hearing all the animal noises from all sides but never once actually witnessing the source. Bellowing, cackling, grunting, snorting, hissing, rustling, cooing, guffawing, (insert your own favorite sound-imitating verb from Roget here), all of it sequenced in a manner that does not exactly make the track «musical», but gives it a certain logic of development that makes it inte­resting to follow. My only grudge is that ʽCreatureʼ is hardly the right title — there is no singular «creature» to be represented here, more like a miriad of creatures, freshly released from Noah's Arc or something into the forest and singing their happy songs of freedom. Or is that supposed to be a ʽ(Waiting For) Creatureʼ kind of idea?

The 15-minute-long ʽSkeletonʼ is the only track to slightly overstay its welcome: somewhere in the middle, the band hits upon a «wave upon wave of relaxing psychojangle» groove that they be­come so happy about, they let it roll and roll and roll for what seems like ages, even though it hardly has anything to do with any skeletons (some of the other effects do sound like the rattle of bones, though). However, they more than make up for this with ʽNight Flightʼ — an acoustically stunning six-minute closer where, indeed, all sorts of things, from small birds and bats to large birds and bats to spirits, ghosts, and pink elephants charging through the air one or several at a time, before they all come plodding and crashing down at the end. In the meantime, we also realize that we have made a full 24-hour circle, from the greeting dawn of ʽCloud Pleaserʼ to the busy aerial life of the nighttime in the final round.

So, once again, be it «music» or «sonic theater», Creature Comforts is an utter delight for the senses, provided you let your imagination run as wild as the sound does, instead of boringly wal­lowing around in modernistic abstractions — which is why, despite the comparative lack of hype, I actively prefer it to most of Autechre's «aural suprematism». Another clear thumbs up, heavily recommended (especially if you are an active zoo-goer or Animal Planet watcher).

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Black Dice: Beaches And Canyons

BLACK DICE: BEACHES AND CANYONS (2002)

1) Seabird; 2) Things Will Never Be The Same; 3) The Dream Is Going Down; 4) Endless Happiness; 5) Big Drop.

From Kraftwerk to Aphex Twin to Autechre to the Animal Collective, my attitude towards elec­tronic music of all kinds is relatively simple — give me a world that lies beyond my imagination, but feels real enough, and we'll be quite likely to share a connection. That is the way I like to review most of those electronica records, by trying to discriminate between those that live, breathe, and tell «wond'rous stories» from those that exist purely as meaningless agglomerations of sounds. However, for the most part, it is just my impressions — there is no telling if the artist in question truly intended this particular track to sound like «copulating refrigerators» or «nanites delousing their circuits».

With Black Dice, an experimental noise outfit from Brooklyn, run by brothers Bjorn and Eric Copeland, the situation is different. These guys actually started out as more of a hardcore outfit, gradually moving towards digital magic as their penchant for wildness and experimentation led them to worship at the altar of Merzbow and other similar acts. By the time they got around to recording their debut LP, with Aaron Warren on bass and Hisham Bharoocha on drums, they were completely past any «generic hardcore» stage imaginable — and yet, Beaches And Can­yons does not at all sound like your average «electronic» album. Perhaps I would rather say that it sounds like your above-average experimental album that simply happened to be made with electronic tools lying around. This certainly makes it different from people like Richard D. James, who normally eat transistors for breakfast and sleep on motherboards.

Anyway, there is little doubt in my mind that, when Black Dice set out to make an album, they really have it in their minds to construct an alternate universe. Alternate enough, that is, to be fascinating and intriguing, but not enough to be completely incompatible with aural impressions that we have of ours. They present a set of «sonic-scapes», rhythmically and harmonically orga­nized, but very natural sounding — diverse, meaningful, intentionally ugly when the time calls for it and quite pretty when it doesn't. In a way, they achieve here (at least, to my utmost satis­faction) the kind of effect that The Animal Collective were not able to achieve on their early re­cords — probably because they were too obsessed with the «anything goes» aesthetics, whereas Black Dice, as chaotic as their output may seem at first, are, in fact, highly disciplined, and take full responsibility for every twist and turn.

The titles occasionally help. ʽSeabirdʼ starts out with a series of coos, caws, bleeps, and scuffles that do actually resemble a scattered, but patterned flock of alien seagulls and other species — gradually increasing in density until they all begin to fly round in dizzying circles. Later on, birds are joined by humans in a cute sort of tribal dance — whether it is supposed to signify a peaceful union between all species, or the primordial hunter's joy at the perspective of some roast seabird, I have no idea, but it all sounds fun, anyway.

From there on, the Copelands move to a series of lengthier, noisier suites: ʽThings Will Never Be The Sameʼ puts you inside the promised «canyons», with spirits playing games on your senses through winds, echoes, animal noises, baby cries (for some reason) and, finally, a grating, high tension storm where you seem to be caught up in a sparkling electric booth, afraid to move an inch for fear of being immediately electrocuted. ʽThe Dream Is Going Downʼ does sound like a sonic impersonation of an acute, inescapable nightmare — ten minutes of sirens, confusion, waves of white noise, looped schizo screaming, like a ʽRevolution No. 9ʼ for organized people (same hellish atmosphere but without the jarring unpredictable transitions from one piece of the collage to another). ʽEndless Happinessʼ breaks up the nightmare and gets you back to the can­yons, with chimes and woodwinds providing the atmosphere — then replaced by no fewer than six minutes of waves breaking on the shore, as it happens on one of those «Nature Sounds» CDs. Finally, ʽBig Dropʼ brings back the sonic nightmare, although, frankly speaking, it feels some­what redundant: I am happy enough with the 43 minutes of the first four tracks, and count this further sixteen-minute reprise as a special bonus for those who could not get enough.

This is certainly not «music» in the usual sense of the word, but neither is it «noise», produced out of a simple wish to experiment and to shock. Perhaps it could all be described as «simplistic» experimentation, unburdened by excessive complexity and intellectualization. There may be dif­ferent ways to crack the code of Black Dice, but it is not a chess puzzle — it is quite easily acces­sible, and convertible to a fun experience, for, I believe, even the stupidest of us, provided we are at least capable of opening our minds a little bit. Rough around the edges, yes: some of the loops and cycles run a little longer than they should, and, on the whole, the Copelands seem like bright lads, able to easily come up with far more ideas than they have allocated for this record. But still a thumbs up all the way, even if, in retrospect, it now seems more like a teaser for even better things to come.

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