The Rubber Room column is a weekly look at recent and notable releases that don’t fall into the rubric of traditional reviews or reviewed material—namely 7”’s, 12”’s, 3” CDs, EPs, cassette-only, DVDs and MP3-only releases.

King Creosote
Bootprints
[679 Recordings, 2005]

While Babybird remain on silent sabbatical no one else has really bothered to try and fill the vacant position for a cute, wise and sad songwriter who makes enjoyable and interesting music. King Creosote skirts the homeliness of lo-fi with a bigger better sound featuring xylophone, horns and a sashaying swinging rhythm track. There may be similarities in “Bootprints” sound to one of those incidental Blur LP organ tracks but this is a pleasure to get lost in. Still not sure about that name though.
[Scott McKeating]

Final
Failure (Free MP3 download)
[Avalanche, 2005]

With Godflesh’s unfortunate and swift descent into familiarity and Justin Broadrick’s resurrection as Jesu it’s good to know his Final ambient/illbient alias is still intact and working better than ever. In the past Final could often be too minimal and too dark, losing itself in the theatrics of Isolationism letting the ingredients outweigh the music. “Failure” promises much with a balance of experimentation, a climbing deep hum of a tune and weight without gloom. Its grisly misshapen human born drones and revolving altering pitched swirl give the piece both a digestible structure and a fluidity that makes it seem like the Final experiment has only just begun.
[Scott McKeating]

The Rakes
Retreat EP
[Dim Mak, 2005]

You might have noticed that a glut of rock bands with a dance-y side have been putting out albums. You might also think the Rakes are just one more of these groups. You might think critics would have a found a reference point other than Dave Allen's band by now. You'd be right on two out of three. The Rakes do share certain aesthetic points with Franz Ferdinand, Hot Hot Heat, et al, but on their Retreat EP, they avoid the the stylistic study that gets traded on in favor of a more assertive rock sound, strengthened by engaging guitar lines. "22 Grand Job" shows that the band pays attention to craft, with its well-used drums and clever production (good try on the closing key change, but it doesn't work). Essentially, more of the same, but different. And sometimes better.
[Justin Cober-Lake]

Clay’s Festering Lungs
Silver Skull
[Imvated, 2005]

The noise underground, though clearly not in its infancy, seems to be constantly emerging. Maybe this is due to the slew of labels that spring up and die faster than the seasons change, or the limited-run releases that sell out so fast a year-old tape can seem as legendary and unattainable as a lost psych side from a burnt-down 60s commune. Imvated, a cracked Belgian label, has recently thrown their hat into this blink-an-eye-and-you-miss-it ring. Allied with the grimier side of American new folk, the New York neo-No Wavers (and No Wave apers) having no fun at No Fun, and analog and digital noise shredders squatting on the continent and kicking around dirty lofts in the States, Imvated has produced a bumper crop of oddball one-offs.

Silver Skull by Clay’s Festering Lungs—the solo psych-noise project from Davenport headman Clay Ruby—is the latest bounty from the harvest. Silver Skull drowns folk influences under pulsing waves of feedback and distortion squeals, though Ruby’s yearning vocals sometimes peek out from under the mess, occasionally even reaching the point of legibility. Not that one cares to understand them. Silver Skull focuses so intently on texture and undulating, slow-burn rhythm that semantic content would only distract the listener.

The tape traffics in emptiness and muted pain; it’s a perfect accompaniment to a long, lonely convalescence. Abruptly cut into several pieces—each distinct but similar in drony and disturbed—Silver Skull refuses even the listener hoping to be lulled into narcotic coma. Too threatening and ominous for quick gratification, but too impatient for the drone set, Silver Skull plays by its own rules in a increasingly flooded and diluted noise/drone/pysch market. So count Clay’s Festering Lungs as another emerging name in the noise world, though I can think of few artists established enough to be unseated by up-and-comers.
[Bryan Berge]

Vapaa
Jännittävät asiat olemme jo kauan kertoneet toisillemme salaisissa kirjeissä
[267 lattajjaa, 2005]

Simply typing the title of the newest Vapaa release was difficult enough, but if I had to recite it twenty times fast for the privilege of hearing this again, you’d better believe I’d practice for days. This release is great, great enough to warrant twisting our Anglophone tongues around the fronted and long vowels dotting Finnish vocabulary. Call this free-jazz, call it ritual psychedelia, call it whatever you want. No name will quite do anyway.

Long a player in Finland’s free music scene, the Vapaa ensemble is greatly boosted on this 3” CD by the venerable Keijo. But the group doesn’t seem stiff in his presence. Horns unwind naturally into gypsy swing, plangent drumming prompts somber head bobs, synthesizer alarms scream to awaken narcoleptic shakers, and urgent guitar tones dart between menacing bass drifts. The result is a stunningly organic, beautiful release varying stylistically from austere industrial to fiery jazz ala Rauhan Orkesteri to minimal electro-acoustic abstractions without drawing boundaries in between. Then, as if to top themselves, the divergent styles melt into a five-minute murky drone concluding the disc.

Improvisations of such passion, coherence, and spontaneity rarely surface. Listening to Vapaa is like being struck by lightning, and then standing—on tippy toes with arms extended—on the highest hill of a naked field hoping to be struck again. One of the best EPs I’ve heard all year.
[Bryan Berge]

fm3
Buddha Machine
[Staalplaat, 2005]

The folks at Staalplaat have a serious dedication to both innovative packaging as well as supporting cutting-edge music (check out their “Mort Aux Vaches” series if you don’t believe me). With the release of the Buddha Machine, they’ve hit the jackpot—the packaging is the music, or at least is inseparable from it. Created by China-based experimental duo fm3 (expat American Christiaan Virant and native Zheng Jian), the Buddha Machine is a soundbox containing nine hardwired loops that can be played through a built-in speaker or headphone jack. It’s the sort of thing one fantasizes about finding in a secondhand shop one day—cheap, charming, and mesmerizingly lo-fi. The loops swell and fade through circuit crackle, alternately evoking an ancient tape smuggled out of some Tibetan monastery and a worn-out Blade Runner soundtrack stuck in a groove; they’re simple enough to suit the format, yet sufficiently compelling to promote egregious battery wastage. Brilliant.
[Ethan White]