TUESDAY OCT 16, 2018
529 Presents:
529, PBR Sound Society & Irrelevant Music Present:
Omni
Breathers | Pamela_and her sons | + DJ Kale Svvick
Omni
"Halfway through “Southbound Station,” the opening song on Omni’s second album Multi-task, bassist Philip Frobos sings, “I’m just waiting on the vibration.” He’s talking about a text message he’s expecting—definitely not about his group’s music. This Atlanta, Ga. trio never hesitates to get things moving. Their sound is all quivers and shakes and spasms, filled with wiry guitar chords, nervy basslines, and jolting beats. Every track is pithy and pointed to a nearly obsessive-compulsive degree. Only one of the album’s 11 songs lasts longer than three minutes, and the band always starts in high gear, revving hard before quickly reloading. This brand of restless kinetics could induce listener fatigue, but, much like the best purveyors of musical caffeination—Wire, Devo, Talking Heads—Omni avoid tedium by never forcing the action. They sell their nervous energy not as affectation or aesthetic statement, but simply as a logical way of dealing with the world. That was true on their 2016 debut, Deluxe, but on Multi-task they’ve honed their sound to the point where it’s hard to imagine them playing anything that doesn’t take sharp turns or hit abrupt stops. Omni’s sonic signature is aided by Frobos’ subdued vocals. Compared to the high-strung yelps of Mark Mothersbaugh or the geeky tremble of David Byrne, Frobos’ voice is decidedly deadpan, delivered in a semi-monotone as if he’s the calm center of a musical storm. At times it seems he views the music swirling around him as a surreal dream, and the only way to handle it is to stay cool and go with his band’s jagged flow. Frobos’ vocal chill is matched by his lyrics, which share Byrne’s knack for treating daily life like an alien puzzle. Many of Multi-task’s songs are about people meeting and relating, and Frobos often sounds perplexed that anyone ever manages to connect. During “Tuxedo Blues,” he begs a comrade to “speak out, say what you mean, without parting the sea”; in “Calling Direct,” his attempts to reach out are so frustrated that he decides he has to “stage a coup to get to you.” Eventually, in the skeptical “Date Night,” he questions the whole concept of shared experience: “When I’m looking are you seeing/Someone in a different light, another being?” All these laments fit music that’s aptly off-kilter, finding angles and divots where other bands might smooth things out. Many of those angles are the sum of Omni’s parts, as Frobos’ rubbery bass meshes with Frankie Broyles’ guitar playing and drumming (the group were between drummers when recording Multi-task, and have since enlisted Doug Bleichner of Warehouse in the role). But Broyles, a former member of Deerhunter, is often the star, slashing across the songs like a spark plug firing an engine. He’s particularly adept at chopping chords and chiming notes simultaneously, so his complex leads have a visceral thrust. On the herky-jerky “Choke,” his guitar sounds both threatening and joyous, while during the escalating “Supermoon,” he keeps his foot on the riff pedal while also weaving detailed lines. His synergy with Frobos comes to a head on closer “Type,” which displays the strengths of Omni in miniature: dodging momentum, confident swing, rough precision. But then miniatures are what this band does best, building small choices into an exhilarating whole." -Pitchfork
"Halfway through “Southbound Station,” the opening song on Omni’s second album Multi-task, bassist Philip Frobos sings, “I’m just waiting on the vibration.” He’s talking about a text message he’s expecting—definitely not about his group’s music. This Atlanta, Ga. trio never hesitates to get things moving. Their sound is all quivers and shakes and spasms, filled with wiry guitar chords, nervy basslines, and jolting beats. Every track is pithy and pointed to a nearly obsessive-compulsive degree. Only one of the album’s 11 songs lasts longer than three minutes, and the band always starts in high gear, revving hard before quickly reloading. This brand of restless kinetics could induce listener fatigue, but, much like the best purveyors of musical caffeination—Wire, Devo, Talking Heads—Omni avoid tedium by never forcing the action. They sell their nervous energy not as affectation or aesthetic statement, but simply as a logical way of dealing with the world. That was true on their 2016 debut, Deluxe, but on Multi-task they’ve honed their sound to the point where it’s hard to imagine them playing anything that doesn’t take sharp turns or hit abrupt stops. Omni’s sonic signature is aided by Frobos’ subdued vocals. Compared to the high-strung yelps of Mark Mothersbaugh or the geeky tremble of David Byrne, Frobos’ voice is decidedly deadpan, delivered in a semi-monotone as if he’s the calm center of a musical storm. At times it seems he views the music swirling around him as a surreal dream, and the only way to handle it is to stay cool and go with his band’s jagged flow. Frobos’ vocal chill is matched by his lyrics, which share Byrne’s knack for treating daily life like an alien puzzle. Many of Multi-task’s songs are about people meeting and relating, and Frobos often sounds perplexed that anyone ever manages to connect. During “Tuxedo Blues,” he begs a comrade to “speak out, say what you mean, without parting the sea”; in “Calling Direct,” his attempts to reach out are so frustrated that he decides he has to “stage a coup to get to you.” Eventually, in the skeptical “Date Night,” he questions the whole concept of shared experience: “When I’m looking are you seeing/Someone in a different light, another being?” All these laments fit music that’s aptly off-kilter, finding angles and divots where other bands might smooth things out. Many of those angles are the sum of Omni’s parts, as Frobos’ rubbery bass meshes with Frankie Broyles’ guitar playing and drumming (the group were between drummers when recording Multi-task, and have since enlisted Doug Bleichner of Warehouse in the role). But Broyles, a former member of Deerhunter, is often the star, slashing across the songs like a spark plug firing an engine. He’s particularly adept at chopping chords and chiming notes simultaneously, so his complex leads have a visceral thrust. On the herky-jerky “Choke,” his guitar sounds both threatening and joyous, while during the escalating “Supermoon,” he keeps his foot on the riff pedal while also weaving detailed lines. His synergy with Frobos comes to a head on closer “Type,” which displays the strengths of Omni in miniature: dodging momentum, confident swing, rough precision. But then miniatures are what this band does best, building small choices into an exhilarating whole." -Pitchfork
Breathers
Breathers challenge perceptions of synth-pop on their new album Designed to Break. Each song is a refreshingly honest dive into the modern human psyche balanced with vibrant synth lines that capture the imagination and drip like dew into our parched subconscious. Despite the pop moniker, Breathers defy categorization, drawing inspiration from the Sophisti-pop movement and the cryptic poetry of Steely Dan. Even the album title is multi-faceted, referencing both the analog gear that Breathers use to craft their sound and the disposable nature of modern technology.
Over the past few years, Breathers have laid the groundwork for Designed to Break with a series of insightful tracks featuring T. Lee Gunselman and Jake Thomson on synths and vocals, with Mike Netland providing live drums and sequencing. The result is a danceable mix of organic and synthetic sounds that warp traditional song structures into something subversive yet enticing. Throughout this album, lead singer and lyricist Gunselman offers thoughtful observations on isolation and anxiety, focusing on the corresponding weaknesses and strengths of the human spirit, and the importance of listening to oneself apart from the cacophony of an increasingly commercialized world. Each topic is couched in a comforting sensitivity which plays off the spacious chords and delicate melodies of Designed to Break.
Both sunny and cerebral, there’s an intangible generosity in the way Gunselman expounds on society and culture while the band weave jazz-influenced chords into Mediterranean hues. On Designed to Break, Breathers have jettisoned everything that doesn't shimmer and fused what remains into a rejuvenating cosmic polyphony. Never has a synth record felt so intrinsically human. Designed to Break is out 9/12 on LP/Digital via Irrelevant Music.
Breathers challenge perceptions of synth-pop on their new album Designed to Break. Each song is a refreshingly honest dive into the modern human psyche balanced with vibrant synth lines that capture the imagination and drip like dew into our parched subconscious. Despite the pop moniker, Breathers defy categorization, drawing inspiration from the Sophisti-pop movement and the cryptic poetry of Steely Dan. Even the album title is multi-faceted, referencing both the analog gear that Breathers use to craft their sound and the disposable nature of modern technology.
Over the past few years, Breathers have laid the groundwork for Designed to Break with a series of insightful tracks featuring T. Lee Gunselman and Jake Thomson on synths and vocals, with Mike Netland providing live drums and sequencing. The result is a danceable mix of organic and synthetic sounds that warp traditional song structures into something subversive yet enticing. Throughout this album, lead singer and lyricist Gunselman offers thoughtful observations on isolation and anxiety, focusing on the corresponding weaknesses and strengths of the human spirit, and the importance of listening to oneself apart from the cacophony of an increasingly commercialized world. Each topic is couched in a comforting sensitivity which plays off the spacious chords and delicate melodies of Designed to Break.
Both sunny and cerebral, there’s an intangible generosity in the way Gunselman expounds on society and culture while the band weave jazz-influenced chords into Mediterranean hues. On Designed to Break, Breathers have jettisoned everything that doesn't shimmer and fused what remains into a rejuvenating cosmic polyphony. Never has a synth record felt so intrinsically human. Designed to Break is out 9/12 on LP/Digital via Irrelevant Music.
Pamela_and her sons
Y’know, I was about to start this review with some kooky conceit about chopped salads and chopped vocals. And I woulda gotten away with it, because this latest smorgasbord from Alessandra Hoshor, a.k.a. Pamela_ and her sons, could seem a baffling tossed mess to the uninitiated. But listen closer, and the blueprints for Hurt Plaza slowly fade into view, like invisible ink over neon green paper. We’re not talking about Autechre-level austerity, nor the alien designs of Nicolas Jaar, but something more akin to the super-textured, crazy kinetic scrapbook approach of Actress. In other words — bizarre but deliberate, and definitely not leafy. If Hurt Plaza were indeed a plaza, then Hoshor’s effervescent vocals would spring forth from the central fountain. Like the L.A.-based sound architect Katie Gately, Hoshor forges breathing landscapes out of artificial babble, with several layers stacked and slanted into a precarious Janga tower. “All Out” perhaps spins into the dizziest round, with bubbles of synthesized “ohs” blending in with Hoshor’s own warped voices; “Sad Laugh,” too, beguiles with a dizzying array of laughs that pop like pistons. Whispers and murmurs lend texture to the walls, like in the 5 a.m. factory after-party of “Rush” and the clattering “Almost!” Those weird loops are what make Hurt Plaza so alien, even when the tiles on the floor look like the same damn tiles in other plazas. But where Gately throws in everything and the kitchen sink into her 3-D pop mazes, a Pamela piece doesn’t need many twists or props to turn yr head in loops. Lead single “Green Light” drifts on little more than a staggered cymbal; “Fantasy” ping-pongs phantom calls through a stuttering vacuum. It’s an economy that you won’t catch at a casual glance, thanks to the bustling pace — and that’s both fascinating and frustrating. For, despite Hoshor’s cunning in the layout, there’s still a flatness here that leaves the listener hungry still. “Xx Restless xX,” in particular, seems unfinished, an electro temple run intended only to bridge “All Out” with “Bom Bom Bop.” Still, even if some areas of Hurt Plaza seem undeveloped, Hoshur at least knows how to keep guests on their toes. The songs here land all over the map: “Citybridgefucker” pulses with the moldy industrial shade of Front 242; “Bom Bom Bop” traipses downward into the frost of UK grime; “Down the Hall” shuffles like sidewinding footwork into a flurry of topsy-turvy piano. Given the aforementioned economy, though, the “variety” here is really more like a selection between snacks at a vending machine than, say, a spread of food joints in a mall plaza. But, eh — Hoshor probably isn’t planning to build a food court, anyway. All told, Hurt Plaza may not be the artsiest installment ever, and definitely not the most original design in the vast strip mall of the internet. But on the local block, Pamela_ and her sons stands apart from the pack — and shoppers should hang around a while, if only to marvel at the pretzel-shaped layout. -Immersive Atlanta
Y’know, I was about to start this review with some kooky conceit about chopped salads and chopped vocals. And I woulda gotten away with it, because this latest smorgasbord from Alessandra Hoshor, a.k.a. Pamela_ and her sons, could seem a baffling tossed mess to the uninitiated. But listen closer, and the blueprints for Hurt Plaza slowly fade into view, like invisible ink over neon green paper. We’re not talking about Autechre-level austerity, nor the alien designs of Nicolas Jaar, but something more akin to the super-textured, crazy kinetic scrapbook approach of Actress. In other words — bizarre but deliberate, and definitely not leafy. If Hurt Plaza were indeed a plaza, then Hoshor’s effervescent vocals would spring forth from the central fountain. Like the L.A.-based sound architect Katie Gately, Hoshor forges breathing landscapes out of artificial babble, with several layers stacked and slanted into a precarious Janga tower. “All Out” perhaps spins into the dizziest round, with bubbles of synthesized “ohs” blending in with Hoshor’s own warped voices; “Sad Laugh,” too, beguiles with a dizzying array of laughs that pop like pistons. Whispers and murmurs lend texture to the walls, like in the 5 a.m. factory after-party of “Rush” and the clattering “Almost!” Those weird loops are what make Hurt Plaza so alien, even when the tiles on the floor look like the same damn tiles in other plazas. But where Gately throws in everything and the kitchen sink into her 3-D pop mazes, a Pamela piece doesn’t need many twists or props to turn yr head in loops. Lead single “Green Light” drifts on little more than a staggered cymbal; “Fantasy” ping-pongs phantom calls through a stuttering vacuum. It’s an economy that you won’t catch at a casual glance, thanks to the bustling pace — and that’s both fascinating and frustrating. For, despite Hoshor’s cunning in the layout, there’s still a flatness here that leaves the listener hungry still. “Xx Restless xX,” in particular, seems unfinished, an electro temple run intended only to bridge “All Out” with “Bom Bom Bop.” Still, even if some areas of Hurt Plaza seem undeveloped, Hoshur at least knows how to keep guests on their toes. The songs here land all over the map: “Citybridgefucker” pulses with the moldy industrial shade of Front 242; “Bom Bom Bop” traipses downward into the frost of UK grime; “Down the Hall” shuffles like sidewinding footwork into a flurry of topsy-turvy piano. Given the aforementioned economy, though, the “variety” here is really more like a selection between snacks at a vending machine than, say, a spread of food joints in a mall plaza. But, eh — Hoshor probably isn’t planning to build a food court, anyway. All told, Hurt Plaza may not be the artsiest installment ever, and definitely not the most original design in the vast strip mall of the internet. But on the local block, Pamela_ and her sons stands apart from the pack — and shoppers should hang around a while, if only to marvel at the pretzel-shaped layout. -Immersive Atlanta