The Myrrors :: The Aquarium Drunkard Interview

If you're listening for musical borders in Borderlands, the latest from Tucson, Arizona-based psychedelic unit the Myrrors, good luck. In the record's collected extended jams and briefer numbers, whatever lines exist to separate kosmische, drone, folk, minimalism, and free jazz blur, bend and then vanish entirely. Yet however borderless the sound here may be, songwriter Nik Rayne and his crew have walls, and division, on the mind. The band's situated mere miles from the line that divides the United States and Mexico, and their meditation on how we keep out – and keep in – couldn't feel more timely, as the horrors of family seperations and abuse on our borders makes clear the real, violent effects of othering those who cross lines defined by powerful forces outside themselves. But timely records can sometimes feel timeless too, and Borderlands is that kind of record. Its meditative intensity, and "Call For Unity," suggests not only specific struggles in our time, but the struggles of people throughout history. "Tell me do you see it/the history in view/fooled us into thinking/it couldn't happen here," Rayne sings on the Amon Düül-referencing "The Blood That Runs the Border," the "here", gravely, could be anywhere.

I caught up with Rayne, whose music I've followed for more than a decade, to dig into the themes of the record, talk borders, and explore how record store culture has informed the band's sound. Borderlands is available everywhere today on Beyond Beyond is Beyond Records.

Borderlands by The Myrrors

Aquarium Drunkard: Coming from Tucson, how has your own perception of the "border" between the US and Mexico changed over the years? Is the record an attempt to comment on the concept of borders more generally, in terms of the definitions we come up with to divide our art, politics, and beliefs in daily life?

Nik Rayne: The title and themes behind Borderlands emerged pretty naturally during the process of working on the album. Living in Tucson really puts you at the front line of a lot of what has been going on regarding the border patrol, federal immigration policies, and abuses, institutionalized racism, the complexities of heterogeneous regional histories, all that...to the point where these issues really become an inescapable part of daily life. I had been thinking about trying to steer the next record in a more conceptual direction anyways, and when "The Blood That Runs the Border" became one of the first tracks cut for the session it more or less guided me into the rest.

That being said, domestic border concerns were just the starting point; the album speaks towards border conflict on a global scale, as well as what happens in that dead grey zone in between the "walls" that people construct, whether those are physical, social, or psychological. Another real historical border that played a large part in the ideas behind the album is the Durand Line, the frontier-point between Afghanistan (where my father is from) and Pakistan drawn by the British empire for political reasons which separated the Pashtun homeland and has caused endless problems over the years...many of which might sound familiar to people from, say, the Tohono O'odham Nation in the Sonoran Desert, whose land and whose families were also divided by foreign interest between two countries in a seemingly perpetual state of conflict.

As the saying goes, "we didn't cross the border, the border crossed us."

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Industrial Estate Blues :: A Gwenifer Raymond Mixtape

On her debut lp You Never Were Much Of A Dancer, guitarist Gwenifer Raymond emerges as a new voice in the American Primitive lineage. Playing acoustic guitar and banjo, the Brighton-via-Cardiff musician's compositions are steeped in blues history, but her use of familiar raw materials results in something surprising and vital. Though it may not be immediately apparent listening to delicate songs like "Sweep It Up" or the majestic "Sometimes There's Blood," Raymond spent her teenage years playing in punk bands, and there exists for her a psychic connection between ancient blues and three-chord ragers. In her mixtape of ole time numbers and punk classics, decades seem to collapse between each song, and a raw, unifying spirit emerges. Raymond, in her own words, explains:

Early American blues and mountain music and punk are separated by many of the most rapidly changing decades of human history. 

Early American blues and mountain music and punk are separated by many of the most rapidly changing decades of human history. Despite this they’ve got a lot in common; sonically, lyrically, and in their general ethos and attitudes. The musicality of the players is usually quite raw (although that is not to say not technically masterful, but rather, unpolished) and at times unhinged; the vocals are classically unsophisticated but they’re unmannered and relatable. It’s those rough edges that really make those sounds as affecting as they are, with the humanity at the other side of the record exposed like an open wound. Lyrically there’re a lot of common themes and many songs have content not suitable for polite company; joking about sex and talking frankly about drinking and using drugs, and living that ‘low’-life. Even though there’s rarely a sense that these lifestyles are being glamorized, there is often a celebratory quality; call it nihilistic joy or making the best of what you’ve got. It’s people giving raw accounts of their own private lives, from gambling and sniffing cocaine in battered jug-joint in Mississippi, to knocking back cheap cider on the cold fringes of a Manchester industrial estate. There’s a DIY ethos to all of the songs on this playlist; people picking up instruments and putting to tune what they were feeling at the time; whatever was important to them and on their mind, or even just joyful sonic explosions that would not be contained. They take songwriting as an everyday part of life, and not something to be mythologized.

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Country Joe McDonald :: The Aquarium Drunkard Interview

49 years ago, on the second day of the Woodstock Music & Art Fair, Country Joe McDonald took to the stage to kill some time while Santana readied their set. While McDonald and his band the Fish are often associated with psychedelic rock, a named rattled in conjunction with the Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix, or the Jefferson Airplane, McDonald was cut from a folk cloth. And on stage that day in upstate New York, his acoustic version of "The 'Fish' Cheer/I-Feel-Like-I'm-Fixin'-to-Die Rag" became something of a folk standard, traded between counterculture heads and Vietnam soldiers and vets alike.

Early in 2018, Craft Recordings released a deluxe box set edition of the Fish's The Wave of Electrical Sound, featuring mono and stereo versions of their first two albums, I-Feel-Like-I-Am-Fixin'-To-Die and Electric Music for the Mind and Body, along with an unreleased protest film, and a slew of archival materials. The set captures Joe's charged spirit, and we sat down with him to discuss his recordings, Woodstock, and the politically harried times that surrounded him, along with his artistic connections to Janis Joplin, Grace Slick, and everyone’s favorite anti-hippie John Fahey.

Aquarium Drunkard: Hey Joe! I’m going to keep it pretty loose. I've got a handful of questions for you, but I'd rather just kind of see where you take it. I don't want to hit you over the head and make you answer a bunch of questions you've already been asked before.

Country Joe McDonald: Well if I don't like it, I won't answer it. [Laughs]

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SIRIUS/XMU :: Aquarium Drunkard Show (7pm PST, Channel 35)

Our weekly two hour show on SIRIUS/XMU, channel 35, can now be heard every Wednesday at 7pm PST with an encore broadcasts on-demand via the SIRIUS/XM app.

SIRIUS 533: Jean Michel Bernard — Générique Stephane ++  Brian Eno - Another Green World ++ Gonzales - Gogol ++ Joni Mitchell - Harlem In Havana ++ Dustin O’Halloran - Opus #12 ++ Gonzales - DOT ++ Mikael Tariverdiev - Summer Blues ++ Julian Lynch - Terra ++ Robert Wyatt - Yolanda ++ Julian Lynch - A Day At The Racetrack ++ Carsten Meinert Kvartet - One For Alice ++ Nina Simone - Be Mu Husband (Live, 1987 . . .

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Elephant Micah :: Genericana

The sound of synthesized waves opens and closes Genericana, the 13th album by Joseph O’Connell released under the Elephant Micah banner. It's not difficult to imagine O'Connell camped out on some beach with a tape recorder, collecting hours of oceanic lapping and fizzing; after all, his last album, Where In Our Woods, included a ballad inspired by migrating vultures on O'Connell's parents’ farm in Indiana. But it's no field recording. Instead, the sound was generated by "The Mutant," a modified synth unit assembled by his brother, keyboardist Matt O’Connell. Nothing is exactly what it seems on Genericana. Even the title, a quick pun dreamed up by O'Connell to replace "bro-lk" in describing "a certain variety of solo performer, who you might see in a frat-style bar...playing the hits of the day in a quasi-folk mode," takes on new, weirder life in the album's context. "Genericana" isn't a style or even a diss, rather, it's a hazy but useful term to describe the way mass culture functions as folk culture in our present moment.

Genericana by Elephant Micah

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Sabu Martinez :: Afro Temple (1973)

His final effort as a bandleader, Afro-Cuban conguero wizard Sabu Martinez cemented his legacy with 1973's Afro Temple. Recorded in Sweden and released six years before his death, the album is a swirling, spiritual, and psychedelic bouillabaisse of sound riffing on, and augmenting, many of the sonic traditions Martinez had worked throughout his career.

At times haunting, the polyrhythmic and propulsive title track immediately locks into a humid, humid groove -- one the group relentlessly ride . . .

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McCoy Tyner :: Makin’ Out (1974)

Via the pianist's 1974 live album, Atlantis, this track is an absolute monster. Notably backed by co-conspirators, saxophonist Azar Lawrence, bassist Juini Booth, percussionist Guilherme Francothe and drummer Wilby Flethcer, the piece's  formidable tone is immediately set, moving along under its own estimable weight for the next 13 minutes. Tyner drives the quintet from the onset, and along with Francothe, paints the walls of the club with broad swathes of color and atmosphere. Menacing, muscular and free, it's quite the ride.

McCoy Tyner :: Makin' Out

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Tropical Valley 307 :: Meditation (In Tribute)

Here's one we played on the radio show this past Wednesday that a number of you were asking about. I picked it up in Tokyo a few months back, via the Japanese  compilation Tropical Valley 307, compiled and mixed by Daisuke Kuroda. Like the majority of the selector compiled CDs I gripped while traveling, the 21 track comp is sans playlist, but . . .

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The Lagniappe Sessions :: Jess Williamson (Second Session)

Lagniappe (la ·gniappe) noun ‘lan-ˌyap,’ — 1. An extra or unexpected gift or benefit. 2. Something given or obtained as a gratuity or bonus.

Following the 2015 release of her debut lp, Native State, we showcased (then) newcomer Jess Williamson's Lagniappe Session with her take on Leonard Cohen, Nina Simone and Bob Dylan. That session is still available, become a member or log in.

Michael Nau :: The Aquarium Drunkard Interview

Michael Nau opens his new album, Michael Nau & the Mighty Thread, with a Wall of Sound ode to thinking you might know, but knowing you might not. "Now in the middle summer/I'm thinking about the universe," Nau sings, his husky baritone floating over shimmering guitars. "I think I know how it works/But I'm a bit less than positive."

It's in that liminal space, between getting it and totally not, that Nau's best songs live. You might not pick up on the dissonance at first, as the 11 tunes that make up the album are all shades of "chill." "No Faraway Star" shimmies like Phil Spector invented dream pop; "Funny Work" shuffles like Bobby Charles; "Can't Take One" sounds beamed over from Planet Hazlewood. The pervasive warmness that defined Nau's work with Cotton Jones and Page France is still here, but listening closer, it becomes clear how often beautiful complications bubble to the surface. "There’s no second-guessing the real," Nau sings on "Funny In Real Life," before shading the resoluteness with a little doubt: "I don’t ever know how I feel.”

Recorded in collaborator Benny Yurco’s apartment studio in Burlington, Vermont, over the course of "four or five days," Michael Nau & the Mighty Thread is Nau's most "band-oriented" solo outing. Most of the songs were cut live. First or second takes ended up on the finished album. Much of Nau's solo work has been exactly that – assembled on his own – but the new record gave him the chance to lean on a wide cast of other players, as well as digging into his songbooks for songs and ideas that had been long abandoned. "Just having other people to play them with you, to do their thing, it just feels more like I’m a singer of a song," Nau says. "It just feels like I can step outside of it a little easier, instead of hearing 50 of me in the same song.

Michael Nau & The Mighty Thread by Michael Nau & The Mighty Thread

We caught up with Nau to discuss building this record live, how that immediacy shaped the songs, and how doubts fuel his seemingly carefree jams.

Aquarium Drunkard: This is a very natural sounding record. Most everyone I know has a low-grade anxiety going at all times now; we live in perilous seeming times. But this record feels like a respite from that, something that accentuates some peace. Does music provide that sort of space for you, somewhere to decompress?

Michael Nau: Absolutely. Playing music is that for me, hanging out with that group of guys. We can just sit in a room and give ourselves a task and work together on something. For those few days, I was there doing that. I can’t go back to it for that sort of peace, but while it was happening, I felt that in my world for a minute.

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SIRIUS/XMU :: Aquarium Drunkard Show (7pm PST, Channel 35)

Our weekly two hour show on SIRIUS/XMU, channel 35, can now be heard every Wednesday at 7pm PST with an encore broadcasts on-demand via the SIRIUS/XM app.

SIRIUS 532: Jean Michel Bernard — Générique Stephane ++ Basa Basa - African Soul Power (excerpt) ++ Shintaro Sakamoto - From The Dead ++ Sinkane - Yacha ++ Muro – 追跡大作戦 Theme From Chase ++ Muro –「ハードトレーニング」より新しい世界への旅立ち ++ Muro — Conduct: A Library Research ++ The Whitefield Brothers - Safari Strut ++ Daisuke Kuroda - Tropical Valley 307 ++ Gabor Szabo - Caravan ++ Serge Gainsbourg - Requiem pour un con ++ Jack Wilkins - Red Clay ++ Alice Coltrane . . .

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James Booker: The Lost Paramount Tapes / Los Angeles, August 15th

In 1973, New Orleans piano wunderkind James Booker cut a session after a gig while in Los Angeles. Which was promptly lost and, much later, found. You can read our piece on the session (and its forthcoming reissue), here. But...if you . . .

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The Aquarium Drunkard Guide To ECM Records

Founded by Manfred Eicher in Germany in 1969, ECM Records (Editions of Contemporary Music) has spent nearly 50 years assembling one of the strongest catalogs in musical history. Marked by an attention to sonic space and a distinct visual aesthetic, ECM has released a wide variety of jazz, fusion, modern classical, early music, and world music. “I wanted to approach the recording in a different way, to record jazz in some kind of chamber music mode, like you might a string quartet, for example,” Eicher told the Irish Examiner in 2017. “There was something missing in the recordings I was hearing: a certain air in the music, a sense of space. For me the technical side was not as important as the idea of creating an aura or atmosphere, of finding poetry in the music.”

Last year, the label's massive output finally made its way to streaming services. Though CDs and vinyl remain "preferred mediums," both for the label and the crew at AD, access to the sprawling discography sent more than a few of us here down the ECM rabbit hole. From the label's earliest releases to brand new favorites like the Shinya Fukumori Trio's For 2 Akis, the ECM catalog upholds Eicher's standard of quality.  Here, a rough guide to some of the sounds that have drawn us in, 22 recordings exhibiting that "poetry in the music," Eicher spoke about. Or, to borrow and modify ECM's famous tagline, 22 of "The Most Beautiful Sound(s) Next to Silence."

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Will Sheff / The Rock*A*Teens :: The Aquarium Drunkard Interview

The Rock*A*Teens were my favorite rock and roll band of the 1990s, a group that disguised heroic artistic ambitions behind a murky, mysterious, reverb-laden take on early rock and roll. I’ve heard echoes of their sweeping grandiosity in the indie-anthemic bands of the mid-2000s and echoes of their weird swampy cool in today’s crop of unpretentious garage-rockers, but I’m never sure whether they were ever being overtly imitated or had just been picking up signals in the air a decade too soon. Those who love them are obsessed with them, but too many are unfamiliar with them and that just kills me because there’s this whole intoxicating universe hidden in these records.

Lopez’s band sprung up like a weed out of the rich soil of Atlanta’s Cabbagetown neighborhood — which in the late 1980s and early ‘90s had become a scrappy community of rockabilly dropouts, gender-bending performance artists, drug adventurers and ambitious post-punks — and there’s something humid and sweltering and essentially southern about their music. Lopez writes high melodrama but with an ironic remove, and his lyrics feel informed by southern currents in literature and photography and folk art, by detective fiction, and by Hollywood epics and forgotten pulp trash. Onstage and on record, his band delivers these songs with a wild and frayed urgency that makes you worry for them.

Each Rock*A*Teens record, in its way, is perfect. Their self-titled debut — like the band itself — was birthed in the immediate aftermath of several tragic accidents and overdoses that traumatized the Cabbagetown scene, and it’s a raw wail of pain and betrayal and wonder. The following year’s Cry saw frontman and songwriter Chris Lopez take a considerable leap forward in his writing while the group refined and strengthened their arrangements; 1998’s Baby, A Little Rain Must Fall was an early masterpiece; on the following year’s Golden Time Lopez grew more narratively ambitious, and then the band packed it in right as the 1990s were coming to a close with Sweet Bird of Youth, their most psychedelic and romantic and sprawling record, which in retrospect felt almost like the band’s epitaph.

Except they’re back, eighteen years later, with Sixth House, recorded after a fun little run the band did a couple years back that slowly turned into something more serious. Sixth House is a worthy addition to the R*A*Ts catalogue because it feels like a rewarding step into adulthood and into the present moment. The band is as frenzied as ever, but they’ve washed away the sonic mud that might have kept away less adventurous potential listeners of the past, they’ve turned down the reverb knob, and Lopez’s focus has widened to something much wider and more global. Beneath the joyous racket, these songs are serious and thoughtful, and they ponder power, mortality, morality, and the state of the soul.

Sometimes when you’re as crazy of a fan as I am of this band you end up getting a chance to meet your heroes as long as you can be cool enough about it, and I’m lucky to have gotten to know Chris Lopez over the years. I gave him a call on a sweltering July afternoon. He was in Atlanta carrying his baby daughter in from the car and I was in Woodstock walking my friend’s dog. - Will Sheff (Okkervil River)

Will Sheff: Sweet Bird Of Youth, the last record, felt like it was a kind of culmination, so it’s interesting that now here you are with this record that feels like a surprise new chapter. So I’m wondering if you can tell me where all this came out of.

Chris Lopez: We were just kinda fired up. We really enjoying playing music in a band, and I certainly felt like there was more to do. Well, I’m always doing something — it’s just a part of my own sustainment system, fooling around with music. It’s just a part of my life and always has been and always will be, whether it’s in an organized fashion or not.

So, we kinda got together and were just like, “Yeah, let’s work on new songs, I got this and I got that, let’s try this and let’s try that.” I mean, it started innocently enough — doing it just to do it — but then it just kinda snowballed and then it was like a real strong feeling like, “Yes we must finish. We’ve started; we have to finish.”

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Enter the Saccharine :: Yacht & Beyond

The summer keeps dragging on, but luckily we've had these extremely smooth sounds keeping us floating at Aquarium Drunkard HQ. Sail on over to our Spotify page to spin this massive (330 songs!) playlist of essential yacht, AOR, blue-eyed soul, and beyond. First access to this playlist was just one of the exclusive treats included in our bi-weekly Sidecar newsletter, presented by Gold Diggers, so if you haven't subscribed now to receive each issue directly in your inbox . . .

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