Nils Frahm & F.S. Blumm – 2X1=4

2X1=4 is Nils Frahm and F.S. Blumm’s fourth collaborative album since 2010, and though a record shop could rightly file its contents alongside the late Lee “Scratch” Perry’s extensive catalogue, the music’s patient scaffolding of dub surrounds a more intrinsic collection of electronic noises.

Neko Case :: Transmissions

This week on Transmissions: the magnificent Neko Case. She’s recently launched Entering the Lung, a newsletter of nature writing. She joined us this week to discuss the mores of the Victorian age, listening to Jane’s Addiction and ’80s albums by The Who, and what initially drew her to punk rock.

Videodrome :: Deadlock (1970)

A mysterious longhaired man in a tattered suit is stumbling his way through a barren and blazing-hot landscape. He’s been shot in the arm. The sun is cooking him alive. In one hand is a gun, in the other is a metal suitcase. Inside the suitcase? A bunch of money and a vinyl record by the cosmic rock trailblazers CAN. This is the opening scene for 1970’s Deadlock, the second feature-length film by the underrated West German auteur Roland Klick, and a movie that not only features a soundtrack by CAN, but also manages to incorporate that music into its cryptic storyline.

An Aquarium Drunkard Guide to Jewelled Antler

The name Loren Chasse and Glenn Donaldson bestowed on their fledgling CD-R label was intentionally totemic. Jewelled Antler. It sounded like something worshipped, an icon from some long-forgotten religion. The block print logo they emblazoned on their small batch releases all but confirmed it: an illuminated stag horn enshrined upon an altar. It might have been cribbed from ice age wall paintings in the caves of Lascaux. And inside was a music strange and wonderful. Sunkissed jangle-pop and caustic drone, Balkan melodies and lysergic folk songs, deep forest field recordings and lo-fi free improv. It was like a homemade Nonesuch Explorer series, chronicling the many musics of some alternate Earth. Or then again, maybe it was northern California all along.

Elevated Rail 5: 2016 Was A Million Years Ago (Pt. 3)

Mary Lattimore uses her harp to bend space/time in a rock club, easing into a Highly Rare (terrible pun definitely intended) unedited excerpt of the set that spawned Makaya McCraven’s 2017 record of the same name. Marc Ford leads the Neptune Blues Club through a Neil classic, ripping as only he can and dropping us off at Hamid Drake & Michael Zerang’s annual Winter Solstice celebration.

Videodrome :: Jammin’ The Blues (1944)

Produced underneath the guidance of Verve Records founder, Norman Granz, Jammin’ The Blues was released on May 5th, 1944. Granz’s objective was to showcase the top jazz musicians of the day and shed light on the shifting musicality of the genre, which had begun transitioning away from the populous swing arrangements of big bands in favor of smaller groups experimenting with rhythm & blues and free form improvisations.

Alan Licht :: Transmissions

Today on Transmissions, author, artist, guitarist, and creator Alan Licht. He’s the author of Common Tones: Selected Interviews with Artists and Musicians 1995-2020, which features insightful conversations with ANOHNI, Tony Conrad, Greg Tate, Yo La Tengo, Kelly Reichardt, Lou Reed, and many more.

Little Feat :: Snakes On Everything

Released in 1971, Little Feat is a far cry from the studio slick boogie that eventually became the band’s trademark, but it’s also one of the best records Lowell George & co. ever made. Little Feat knew what they were all about from the start, and every tune on the album feels road-worn, frayed, and more than a little delirious. With a pinch of swagger and a sly, stony wink, Lowell George wrote about what he knew best: speedballs and hamburgers, dive bar denizens and cranked-out truckers looking for salvation.

Mouth Painter :: Tropicale Moon

For their third release, Mouth Painter mold their high-lonesome exotica into a different kind Americana altogether, something more Kosimiche than cosmic. It’s the kind of music that might be playing on the jukebox in some Venusian honky-tonk. While the languid haze of Barry Walker’s pedal steel is certainly a touchstone of Mouth Painer’s sound, it’s complemented perfectly by Jason Willmon’s rhythmic drive, and the warm, proggy breeze of Valerie Osterberg’s flute.