Quattracenta have spent a decade honing their sound, slowly releasing dark, spacious records that remain loyal to their influences while delving into the band’s own thematic preoccupations. Listen to any of the songs on their new album, “III,” and you can hear how the art-rock trio has won the Dischord seal of approval. Andrea Shearer’s (Saddle of Centaur, Pariah Piranha) pulsating, hypnotic drumming is reminiscent of Lungfish’s Mitchell Feldstein, while guitarist/vocalist Sarah Matas (Home Recording Project) and bassist Christian Sturgis (The Uniform, Lo Moda) establish some of the same texture and tension in their syncopated riffs as Jawbox (in fact, J. Robbins, Jawbox frontman, produced “III”), though their riffs lean more psychedelic than aggressive. When Matas sings, “The way you’re so cold it escapes me,” in the last verse of “Dead Season,” it evokes PJ Harvey’s raw, feral vocals on “To Bring You My Love.” But while Harvey’s vocals sound like a half-lit cigarette in a green room ashtray, Matas’s waft and curl like incense.
The band themselves cite Slint as a major influence, and I can hear it from the first chords of “Fester.” Frankly, is there a postrock band that exists today that was not influenced by Slint? When they recorded “Spiderland,” they were staring down the barrel of adulthood, abandoning the fantasy of being on the road constantly for more stable jobs. For a group of musicians, that transition feels very existential.
Quattracenta’s project is also an existential one, but they aren’t writing songs about a loss of innocence. They’re writing songs that confront mortality itself. Though they may take instrumental cues from Slint, Quattracenta’s even-tempered confidence is a sharp contrast. “III” doesn’t fall back on showy, explosive crescendoes or guitar solos. It’s a different, more careful take on what it means to play heavy music. Less volatile, more understated. Where other bands in their genre might eagerly build toward loud and abrasive releases, on “III,” Quattracenta demonstrates a powerful form of restraint.
There’s a Jane Kenyon poem I like called “Twilight: After Haying” that begins like this: “Yes, long shadows go out / from the bales; and yes, the soul / must part from the body: / what else could it do?” It’s a poem about grief and surrender to the passage of time that feels in tune with the conceptual issues that drift through “III.” On the single “Conjures,” Matas sings, “How will we know when it enters the room / Shadows grow long in the late afternoon / All I ever wanted was the weight of your truth / And all I ever wanted was for you to know that I carry it too.” It sounds like a poem. Or a prayer. You have to keep listening to it back until it makes a new kind of sense. (Rhea Ramakrishnan)
“III”” is available on Bandcamp and elsewhere.
Berndt / Schmidt — “Cloud Machines”
Is “elder statesmen of the avant-garde” a contradiction in terms? If so, it is doubly fitting for John Berndt and M.C. Schmidt, the two Baltimore experimental scene stalwarts behind “Cloud Machines,” an electronic album a dozen years in the making that feels simultaneously old-time and futuristic.
In a time when robots are all sounding increasingly human — after pirating all our shit, such as my beloved fucking em dash — it is refreshing to find these two supremely quirky humans sounding like robots on massive doses of mushrooms disassembling themselves to inexorable Rube Goldbergian rhythmic processes that are absolutely necessary and downright inscrutable.
From moment to moment on this 42-minute album, it’s hard to know what is making any given sound. It’s a good bet that one of the two artists involved invented at least one of the instruments producing the extraordinarily warm but always off-kilter noises, squelches, bloops, and blips, but at least one song, “Gecko Lazzaro,” the longest track on the album at 6:17, features more familiar sounds: It enlists Horse Lords’ Owen Gardner for a crunchy guitar solo and a bassline that eventually emerges out of a prelude of monster grunts provided by Patrick Crossland’s trombone, while the beautiful, creepy, slurpy jitters of “Analysis of Joel” are provided in part by Joel Knispel’s prepared guitar.
Schmidt, one half of the legendary Matmos, is credited as playing an array of synthesizers, samplers, voice, piano, as well as field recordings and “objects,” while Berndt, in addition to saxophones and synthesizers, plays instruments called “Peasant Instrument” and “Rhythm Prism,” which tells you more about Berndt than what these instruments are. He is one of the key figures behind the Red Room and High Zero experimental music scenes in the city and a life-long indulger in the arcane, having produced, he says, his first experimental compositions when he was only 11 years old.
Both of these artists are brimming with ideas but also with a certain excessive charm — even the album’s liner notes describe them as “two of experimental music’s most irascible characters,” and every bit of that charm and irascibility comes across in the “pocket universes,” as they describe the compositions.
It’s a gorgeous record that repays your attention, not only with occasional moments of transcendent beauty but also with the big old goofy grins that a certain combination of uncanny sounds will sweep across your face. (Baynard Woods)
“Cloud Machines” is available on Bandcamp.
Emperor King Bishop | Temple of Solomon — “Searching Underground”
“Searching Underground” begins with a portal jump into a track entitled “Truth.” Emperor King Bishop’s synth bass loop fades in, introducing itself hypnotically. Warren “Trae” Crudup’s masterful drumming begins with delicate cymbal work that quickly evolves into rhythmic bliss, reflecting the disciplined, refined down-to-earth freedom and swag Crudup exudes in the everyday. Bishop’s tenor sax calls you to musical prayer, while Kenny Allen’s guitar screams quietly. These three spiritual warriors dance with divine grace. Bishop crowned this improvisational trio “Temple of Solomon.” I think ancestors like Milford Graves, James Blood Ulmer, and Albert Ayler are pleased.
Before long, we are guided to another portal entitled “Introduction,” where we absorb the soulful tone of Allen’s voice. Towards the end of the song, Bishop, in a Gil Scott-Heron manner, soulfully declares “The world has got to change.” Allen makes his guitar work sound effortless as he expresses his innermost truth: notes floating in an abyss of clarity. This clarity is reinforced by Crudup’s dance with the skins: kick snare, hi-hat, floor and rack tom, crash cymbal assaults on the absurdity that seems to dominate our current collective reality.
Full disclosure: I have played music with all of these guys in different combinations. If you think that makes me biased, then take what I say with a grain of salt. But I think because I know how each of these musicians play individually, I’m hip to the musical alchemy that emerges from their collaboration.
You can hear and feel how their playing goes beyond simply making an album. They are healing themselves, one another, and us with their insurgent sonic expression. According to Bishop, “This group is a living ritual, merging freeness of avant-garde and legacies of Black American music, a living time capsule capturing the soul and spirit of presentness while holding on to ancient ancestral spirit.”
Though initially trained on tenor sax, Emperor King Bishop fluidly expresses himself via synth, keys, and vocals. Hailing from PG County, he eventually made his way to the jazz band ensemble at Morgan State University. Like so many musicians in Baltimore’s improvisational music scene, he wears many creative hats, including fashion design, which he describes as Afrofuturistic.
Baltimore allows space for musicians who are willing to move in various genres and music communities. Bishop comfortably maneuvers about in these genres. You might hear him playing a church, the High Zero Festival of Experimental Improvised Music, a fashion show, a theater production, leading a straight ahead jazz band, or, again for full disclosure, playing with my improvisational band Konjur Collective in a Black August celebration. That versatility and open-mindedness exudes from this project. Just listing the track titles flow like a short, eloquent poem:
Truth
Introduction
Legacy
Soar
Change | Revolution
Time
“The Temple is exploration and growth. Loving your heart but fucking your head up.”
Light some incense. Light some bud. Enter the “Temple of Solomon.” Reemerge feeling anew. (Bashi Rose)
“Temple of Solomon” is streaming on all platforms.
If you, like me, also spent a fair share of your early 20s sitting on the carpet in your bedroom listening to Belle and Sebastian and considering whether or not you should cut your bangs, I have got the perfect album for you. kaz’s debut album, “i want you in my life,” takes the ingredients of ’90s twee, postpunk, and smooth soul to deliver a sound that feels both nostalgic and completely contemporary.
The album begins with “juneau,” an approachable indie rock number with a warm, hypnotic bassline a la Galaxie 500. Kelly Xio’s vocal stylings on “juneau” — and throughout the album — are a real revelation. They exude understated elegance. There’s an unforced honesty to her voice as she pivots between hooks and spoken word segments.
Guitarist Al Schatz (Functionary, Wume), bassist Mark Wadley (the MFC, Body Business, Quitter), and drummer Zach Inscho (the MFC, Hormone, Wildhoney) can all write bangers with their eyes closed. Their prolific output as musicians within the Baltimore music scene is a testament to their style and range. While “i want you in my life” is Xio’s first endeavor into recorded music, I have been a fan of her sprawling prose poetry for quite a while and can attest that her lyrics are just as fluid and magnetic as her writing. “Come with me / take my hand,” sings Xio, on “juneau,” and I don’t need her to say more to be convinced.
The album’s second track is a sultry number called “cassandra” that peppers some angst and sass into the album. Mark Wadley’s blunt postpunk basslines pair with Zach Inscho’s moody drum beats while Al Schatz slides in with twangy guitar licks abound. The track is reminiscent of D.C. postpunk quartet Priests, while “most of,” which also features a spoken word sequence composed by Xio, feels more “Anthems For A Seventeen Year-Old Girl.” Schatz’s buzzy synths float like clouds beneath Xio’s words. The band demonstrates their range on “landlocked,” which seamlessly builds a blues rock progression into a postpunk anthem.
My personal favorite track is “ferris wheel.” It’s playful and danceable, but still a little melancholy. Xio sings, “I haven’t seen you in a long time / Last time you were in the rain / You’ve grown out your hair now / I think you have a kid now,” and there’s enough space between the chords to insert your own specific nostalgia into. It’s just the kind of thing you definitely want to put on a mixtape you’re giving to your crush. Are we still making mixtapes for our crushes? Here’s my suggestion: Make a mixtape for your crush. Put some kaz on it. (Rhea Ramakrishnan)
“i want you in my life” is available to stream on Bandcamp, where you can also purchase it on cassette.
If you would like your music to be considered for Baltimore Beat’s Best Beats, send us your project, along with a short bio (no more than 100 words) and a photo of yourself (with the photographer’s name) to music@baltimorebeat.com.