Celtic Frost-Cold Lake; Noise Records, 1988

With 2016 being an election year in the United States, tempers and political differences are beginning to flare up like blazing hemorrhoids. The vitriol is getting thick on social media sites: Fartbook and Twatter are probably ruining at least one hundred friendships right now over the tried and true bullshit of "political debate".
Seriously, Disaster Amnesiac feels like anyone that would even want to "lead" a government of such sniveling and entitled children deserves whatever ills befall them once they catch that brass ring. Now, I'll vote, but it won't be cast for any of the current crop of clowns that our dumkopf media obsess over. Fuck that.
For now, Disaster Amnesiac will stick to the serious questions that perplex me, such as, is Celtic Frost's Cold Lake a good album?  Granted, this topic pretty much outs me as being just another mannish boy in 'murica, and, I'm OK with that. I'll take listening to Cold Lake over any of the "serious" banter that is flapping around with the heated consistency of dung flies right about now.
To start, let us consider the title. Now, I don't know about you, but Disaster Amnesiac finds it to be....heavy. Put it this way: I'm not imagining a bunch of nice Swiss volk bathing in an Alpine lake when I consider this LP. Unless, of course, one of them has drowned and there is a subsequent vision of their chilled, blue-ish, dead hand rising up from the below. Indeed, Cold Lake's title is fine, especially for eerie, evocative Metal aesthetic imaginations.
One could, and should, of course, question the musical merits in deciding if a given document is good. Therefore, onward I press, considering the tones and riffs of this often maligned (and misunderstood) Celtic Frost offering. This being Metal, it seems obligatory to start with the guitars. Frost head chief Thomas Gabriel Warrior pretty much sticks to playing rhythm guitar throughout the album, and he continues the by-then tried and true Celtic Frost guitar vibe: chunky, noisy Power Metal riffs, mid to medium tempo-ed, just a touch less Thrashed than on earlier releases. Disaster Amnesiac loves this type of Metal guitar playing, as it allows for the listener to feel the riffs. They don't simply blaze, and nor do they whiff airy like so many Hollywood bands' efforts, but impact the ears with percussive power. Dig this effect on Petty Obsessions, Cherry Orchards, or (Once) They Were Eagles to hear what I'm saying. Every time that Disaster Amnesiac hears Cold Lake, this guitar playing makes me feel that it's one of, it not THE, best Heavy Metal LP's of the 1980's, on account of Warrior's guitar performance. As for the leads, Oliver Amberg provides all kinds of sick, noisy, atonal, in short crazed action with his axe. On Roses Without Thorns, Downtown Hanoi, and Cherry Orchards, his fingers sizzle and spark out some deliciously odd, angular, and downright Ginn-like solo statements. Do either of these guys sport the Bars tats?
Along with providing those thick rhythm riffs, Warrior also delivers one of his signature, out there vocal performances on Cold Lake. It's all there: the trademark "oooohhh" to punctuate the end of a lyrical line, the strange accents, the bleakly surreal content of those lyrics.  It's obvious that the subject matter is of a more sexual nature than the fantasy themes of previous Frost output up to that point, but Disaster Amnesiac finds them equally unsettling, perhaps more so, given a Roman Catholic upbringing and all.  I hear what is ostensibly "petty obsession" during the song of the same name as "panty obsession"! This record is dirty!  Also, Downtown Hanoi has struck me as one of the best artistic rendering of the ordeals of American jet fighter pilots imprisoned after shoot downs in Vietnam (granted, this may be projection, as I can't understand half of what Warrior is saying). Those dudes' problems made those endured by Vikernes and Faust seem like Justin Beiber concerts. And that, on a supposed lightweight of a Metal release. Just sayin'.
Moving on to the rhythm section, one finds the Celtic Frost beat to have been slowed down a bit, as the band moved from pile driving pound of Reed St. Mark (which ruled) to the more 1970's Bonham-stoked beats and grooves from Curt Victor Bryant and Stephen Priestly (which also rule). Grooves are a key word here: Cold Lake's overarching feel from the starting point of Intro-Human's Techno oddness, a move you'll recall they also used on the much less hated Into the Pandemonium, and on through every other song. Disaster Amnesiac always loves the stompin' beats on Seduce Me Tonight, Dance Sleazy, and Cherry Orchards. Bryant and Priestly's tandem playing moves and shakes, pushing the album's weird Sleaze Metal with fist pumping aplomb. Yes, it has more in common with Stryper than, say, Destruction, rhythmically, but hey, this kind of stomp can just be so compellingly effective in the enjoyment of the tunes. Bryant's sounds often remind this listener of Lemmy's, with his loosely stringed, flapping funk lines. Priestly is most definitely a kick ass kick/snare/hat man; my only quibble with him is the fact that he let the engineering team of Thomas Steeler and Dexter (yes, only one name), bone his snare sound on Juices Like Wine. What's up with that?
Taken as a whole, Cold Lake has held up remarkably well over time. Disaster Amnesiac never tires of its weird mashup of Thrash Metal and Arena Metal. I enjoy both styles at times, and seriously enjoy their juxtaposition on this odd, and for the times, very brave statement from Thomas G. Warrior et al. He was the one musical artist of the time that could conceive and pull off such weirdness, at least within the mid-tier Heavy Metal world. I recall Celtic Frost taking all kinds of shit for doing it, and, sadly, he's pretty much disavowed himself of having had anything to do with it. Perhaps it was all the fault of "Stylist" and guest vocals hotty voice Michelle Villanueva? Regardless, thirty years later, it's the LP from them that I find myself enjoying the most. Of course, I'm open to debate on the topic. Unlike the useless political dialectic that's heating up daily here in the U.S., that's one that I'd entertain for hours.

Thollem Electric-Operation Sunbeam; Aural Films CD/DL; 2016

Recent press action for Wolf Eyes has had the band eschewing the Noise label for the kick ass term Trip Metal. Disaster Amnesiac finds this move astute and fascinating. If any band OWNS the term Noise in the 21st Century, it's pretty clearly Jack White's new label darlings. I mention it here, simply because Thollem Electric likewise could be filed under "Noise" by just about any reviewer, but Operation Sunbeam displays tons more variation within its sounds, and as such, could probably use a bit subtler descriptors.
According to Aural Films bandcamp page, Sunbeam can "[transport] the listener to the  Cold War era", but for Disaster Amnesiac, it's very much a now release. By this, I mean that its sounds are best appreciated by present, active, now attention span. Yes, older analog equipment is used throughout. That said, whether one is listening to the throaty, wheezing meditations of the opening track Plutonium Valley, or the woozy, glassy toned The Forest, Encore, And Grable that follows it, one's perceptions will be suitably bent and distorted right along with their sounds in the moment. Dig on the cutting sonic violence of Divine Strake and Operation Icecap. Let their harshness wallop your inner ear. Go down Super Kukla's thorny, hallucinogenic path. Allow the initial alarm bells in Survival City vs. Doomtown do a number on your head. Confer with the Great God Pan as Ship Of The Desert transports you to your own harrowing date with some mental Hassan I Sabbah. Do all of this, yet, please remember that these sounds are of the current paradigm. They're happening NOW.
Using decades-old equipment, and getting really gritty, yet clear recorded tones from it, Thollem Electric has conjured up some amazingly fresh sounds. The best descriptor Disaster Amnesiac can come up with for Operation Sunbeam is "kick ass electronic attack music", but I'm sure that Thollem can do better. I'm just happy these type of sounds are available and accessible.

D'ora Stella-self titled; Limited edition cassette/dl; Old Bicycle Records, 2016

Recently, Disaster Amnesiac put together a Bandcamp page for my late uncle. He managed to preserve his demo tapes through years of homelessness and other hardships. I mention this because his songs are all of the acoustic, singer/songwriter variety. They were much more enjoyable than I imagined they'd be, and, in some way, they prepared me for listening to Old Bicycle Records' newest release, D'ora Stella.
Mrs. Amnesiac has described the release, with its mellow-strummed acoustic sounds, as "Music for a Sunday Afternoon", and I absolutely agree with her.  D'ora has a very relaxed, melodious feel throughout. Tunes such as Fino a notte fonda, dal piccolo ED. alle 4.00 senza the, and un horror che non va in tv, with their dulcet strumming and understated vocals, are perfect for lazy lounging or quiet contemplation. Disaster Amnesiac has been especially entranced by specchiarsi, tra fonde orfane, with its slightly Medieval chord structure and the addition of rain sounds as accompaniment to them. At times, I wish that I could understand the lyrics, but, in some ways, their incomprehensibility to me makes them ever more dreamy and surreal!
Openly Romantic in its aesthetic, D'ora Stella can clearly provide a soothing mental blanket with which to wrap around a harried mind.
Disaster Amnesiac hopes that Andrew Pino's songwriting had the same effect on his mental state that D'ora Stella has had on mine.

Goodbye, Lemmy, Last Folk Hero

Presumably just like millions of other Motorhead fans, Disaster Amnesiac was saddened, but not exactly shocked at the news of Lemmy Kilmister's death on 12/29/2015. The reports coming from this year's tour cycle seemed to presage some drastic change for him (retire? yeah......right!).
I've spent a few days mulling it over, and my conclusion is this: Lemmy was the last 20th Century Folk Hero, and possibly the last real Folk Hero ever. Seeing the outpouring of love for him, from all over the Pop Culture spectrum, deems it so for me.
EVERYONE loved Lemmy, and, really, why not? He was honest and sincere: he loved to rock, he loved to party, he loved to make love. He made no bones about anyone of this, and, to paraphrase one Facebook pal, he did so under an unwavering ethos of personal accountability. He never gave off any bullshit, nor did he come across with the grody, passive-aggresive/sadistic vibes of so many in the music industry. He called it like he saw it, and in an incredibly honest, and heartfelt way.
Take for example his relationship with the Ramones. No less an authority than Joe Carducci opined that the Brudders from Queens had beaten Lemmy to the aesthetic punch that he desired by a year or so. Far from being snarky and weird about it, Lemmy wrote a song praising their genius! It's this kind of supportive, non-egotistical attitude that made people love him, surely. I also always marveled at the variety of bands that Motorhead played with: Metal, Punk, Stoner, Rock....Motorhead defied genre and just hung with any type of band, and I suspect that all were better for it.
Disaster Amnesiac saw Motorhead live twice, and both times Kilmister's presence was very much at center, but never forced or ridiculous. He was just there rocking for the people, and he was a star without even trying to be one.
It seems rather unlikely that a persona as blunt, forthright, and honest could ever emerge from the morass of politically schmoozed movements that now make up popular culture. Lemmy Kilmister, the Last Folk Hero, emerged at just the right time to take that mantle, and I suspect that he took it with him to the grave.
Now, people...go and enjoy some Motorhead, Hawkwind, Rockin' Vickers, or Sam Gopal. Lord knows Lemmy did.

Tom Weeks-Ero Guro; self-released/Produced by Harry Gibbons, 2015

It's an entertainment truism that "if it ain't broke, don't fix it", but one of the dynamics of Jazz and Improvised Music that Disaster Amnesiac loves is the way in which artists within these fields disregard that kind of safety net and let their new developments show. I recall a trip from San Francisco to Oakland's Yoshi's in the mid-1990's in order to see Anthony Braxton play. Expecting the other world logic of his classic Quartet, instead I was treated to a few hours of Braxton playing Standards on the piano with a very straight rhythm section. An instructive moment in expectations, surely. Recently, this type of dynamic played out for Disaster Amnesiac again: after enjoying a set of Electro-Acoustic improvisation from Tom Weeks, John McGowan, and Sam Genovese, in which they played a set of mostly delicate and very quiet pieces (for the first time, Disaster Amnesiac had the opportunity to think "man, his saxophone sounds a lot like a bowed cymbal right now"), I duly purchased a copy of Weeks' Ero Guro, expecting its sounds to be comparable to the music I'd just heard from him.
I was mistaken. The sound of Ero Guro comes from a much different vantage point to be sure, that being a tight and muscular quartet music, featuring electric bass and two drum sets alongside the (mostly) reed work of Weeks. Tom shows great command of his alto saxophone, blowing hard and hot throughout with Blues-ey runs that evoke the disc's dedicatee, Ornette Coleman. Disaster Amnesiac has particularly enjoyed his post-Bop style on closer Yamette Kudasai and his speedy, high pitched runs on Kimochi, but that said, Weeks just seriously plays throughout the proceedings. If you're looking for some physically effecting alto saxophone sounds, you'll find them in Ero Guro. Tom Weeks seriously owns things on the disc, his compositions and improvisational skills greatly on display.
Also of great effect is the rest of the group. Bassist Michael Srouji anchors the rhythm section with fat grooves and quick lines that match the saxophone when necessary. His playing shows serious simpatico with Weeks as his bass riffs run alongside those of the horns. Dig his finger picking on Onii-chan, My Hips Are Moving On Their Own and hear that of which I speak.  The tandem drums from Robert Pruett and Harry Gibbons get into some serious Funk on Tentacle Apocalypse, get all fire-ey and Free on Yamette Kudasai, and blast away furiously on Onii-chan. Their command of the compositions' details and wanton, ranging drumming power during more improvisational passages is powerful, heavy, and just all around enjoyable. This rhythm section simply kicks ass.
Ero Guro is a damn fine CD. Its sounds run a serious gamut, from wild improvisation to complex song forms and strange Musique Concrete (Interlude, with its surreal prurience: are they fucking or climbing a mountain with frost bitten digits?), it has scads of music to offer the listener.
Tom, please keep busting things up, OK? And, please, keep Disaster Amnesiac informed when you're doing this breaking!

Vector Trio-Sin Ojos; self-released via Bandcamp, 2015

With hindsight, Disaster Amnesiac could kick myself for not checking out more music during the years that I lived near Washington, D.C. The shows that were attended by teenage Amnesiac were awesome, of course, but there is just so much great musical culture there to be had: Go Go, Blues, Jazz, Roots Rock, etc. can be found alongside the eminent Punk Rock and Hardcore that gets a lot of the attention. I do recall night time trips to Georgetown for record shopping, during which I would stand outside of this little Jazz club's window, in which the drummer would often be placed, and listen. Still, it's a drag to have never taken in so much of the music that permeates the District.
Happily, Disaster Amnesiac discovered yet another great D.C. band recently, through the great World of Abstract Dreams blog (the man's reading list.....wow), that band being Vector Trio.
Sin Ojos, one of three 2015 releases at Vector Trio's Bandcamp page, starts off spaciously with Semi, a track that has Disaster Amnesiac ruminating about any and all manner of the Post-Ayler continuum in Improvised Music. The group makes these skeletal frames of sound, within which they interact freely and with precision. As I've listened, it's become clear that this group has jammed together a lot; they comment on each others' sounds, finish each others' riffs, and just generally play. Drummer Marshall Hughey frames the sound on Semi. His drum set playing doesn't so much swing as creates zones, from which bassist Gary Rouzer and trumpeter Scott Forrey launch off into their own spaces. These three players present myriad sounds during the tune's twelve minute duration, and though they all really inventive, it's Hughey's drumming that impresses the most. His brush techniques go way beyond the standard Jazz-brushed swishing: at times he coaxes what sound like strange machine sounds from his brushed tom toms and cymbals, or taps out log drum sounds out on the sides of his drums. This is not to say that Forrey and Rouzer don't play incredibly on Semi; they certainly do, but Hughey just puts on a clinic in improvised drum set creativity throughout.
Next up can be found the Jazz march of the title track, during which Forrey really shines. The rhythm section provides a solid, swinging frame, from which he riffs at times buttery and full bodied, at times spicy and more slim and high pitched. His trumpet playing on Sin Ojos travels many paths, all of them compelling to hear. Rouzer gets woody, percussive tones from his bass, and, eventually, Hughey introduces the recording's first overt Swing pattern, moving the group into the canny lateral Monk quoting of Well You Shouldn't, with its sweet horn solos and more fine, if somewhat more traditional brush work from Hughey. It's the kind of nod to tradition that all Jazz lovers could recognize as legitimate and heartfelt. Disaster Amnesiac figures that none that would hear this track would find it disingenuous. Its easy, swinging feel seems all about adding creative touches to a much cherished tradition, never aping it, but participating in its evolution.  Things go back to the more Free side on Not But Also, in which the rhythms get more cellular and pointillist for a time as the trio examines collective improvisation conversation before beginning to bounce a bit more. Forrey's solo again shows him to be a masterful player: as I've listened to Sin Ojos, I've marveled at how much sound and varied tone he gets from what so often seems like such a simple instrument (I realize that this is absolutely not the case, of course, but, hey, maybe I need to check out more trumpet and less saxophone during Jazz listening sessions). Ojos winds down with the melancholy closer The Minus Ghost, during which Rouzer pulls sweeping tones from his cello, Forrey bleats lonely and somewhat sorrowed, and Hughey provides more inventive framing with his excellent brush work.
As this title suggests, there are times when people are without eyes to see, but if you have any kind of ear for Jazz, listen for the sounds of Vector Trio. 

Street Of No Return-David Goodis; 1954, Fawcett Publications

For the past few years, Disaster Amnesiac has been digging interviews and podcasts from an "alternative historian" whose view are quite challenging to mine. Within the spirit of free speech, and the desire to challenge certain orthodoxies that had begun to ossify within my perceptions, I have greatly appreciated this Youtube celebrity's spieling. Recently, he opined something to effect that "America has contributed NOTHING to world culture", and this assertion had me scratching my head, especially since I was deep into American writer David Goodis's 1954 novel Street Of No Return.
It seems to me that Noir writing's form, with its short, tight, descriptive sentences and bleak world views arose out of the necessity of describing the hard scrabble gauntlet that most Americans must indeed walk within our lives on this part of the continent. Street Of No Return definitely stays within those parameters, and masterfully so. Goodis's novel, the story of which essentially spans one long night in the life of a quintessentially 20th Century American Loser, is written with the economical, fast moving Noir style that gives voice to the constantly hustling American Masses. His pages-long description of main protagonist Whitey's beat down at the hands of a sadistic racketeer named Bertha struck this reader as a perfect metaphor for the myriad unpleasant turns that fate hands to so many people within the "American Dream".
Additionally, the sub plot of the novel, framed within a ginned-up race war, plotted and financed by unseen hands that couldn't care less about those doing the actual fighting, and only interested in the profitable chaos that stems from it, is clearly reflective of American culture. Sadly, that's a dynamic that's in play more within the 21st Century Global Culture, but the strange bedfellows that intertwine seem to Disaster Amnesiac to be singularly American. As such, Noir in general and Street Of No Return in particular  are deeply American, culturally.
Along with Jazz, Rock 'n Roll, Hip Hop, Bluegrass, Hollywood, and, indeed, Noir, America has indeed made a few innovations in culture. Disaster Amnesiac cannot say that they're all shining lights as compared to the innovations of various other World Historical societies. That said, novels such as Street Of No Return, which is a fine, fast, and really good read, give the lie to statements that would have American culture as one vast blank. Often dark? Yes. Blank? No, just churning within a firmament that we're all aware of, and trying desperately to rise above.