MUSIC

After a 19-year hiatus, Duster came back with their S/T chef-d'oeuvre in 2019. Recorded in band member Clay Parton’s garage (aka Low Earth Orbit), the record bears all the hallmarks of the band’s early work: gaunt basslines, spindly guitars, and melancholy lyrics that lurk in the background.

Crashing at the unlikely intersection of post-hardcore, slowcore, and jazz-rock, Karate spent a dozen years producing peerless recordings in their adopted hometown of Boston. Collected here are their six albums—S/T, In Place of Real Insight, The Bed Is In The Ocean, Unsolved, Some Boots, Pockets, plus the Cancel/Sing and In The Fish Tank EPs, singles, and split 7"s, a whopping 69 tracks spread across eight glorious compact discs. Leor Galil’s career-spanning essay is illustrated with dozens of period-appropriate photos in the accompanying 80-page book.

A muffled cry into the technological darkness, Contemporary Movement slid into the world right as the MP3 was seeping out of college dorms. A 39-minute drift into the void, drenched in Cold War-era reverb and then submerged in four track hiss for good measure. Duster constructed a Brutalist masterpiece on the outskirts of a suburban mall, as if to say, “We were here.” “Music for dark spaces and closed eyelids, deeply psychedelic but without sprawl, ambient music with a serrated edge of punk.”—The Ringer “Warm, fuzzed-out sounds that hit home like a tight, melancholic embrace from your favorite person.”—Viceiframe style="border: 0; width: 350px; height: 472px;" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1682543875/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=333333/artwork=none/transparent=true/" seamless>Contemporary Movement by Duster

Underground rock festered and splintered as it spread through the U.S. in the mid-’90s, the alternative boom giving rise to microcosmic regional scenes singularly focused on feral powerviolence or screamo songs about breakfast. Boston’s Karate emerged as a force that could grip a national youth movement whose disparate tastes still commingled in the inky pages of fanzines overflowing with florid prose and on concert calendars for volunteer-run DIY spaces, community centers, and bowling alleys. In this world, Karate’s music was an enigma, one equally inviting to sneering punks and highfalutin indie-rock aficionados. Their 1996 self-titled debut, issued on Southern Records, set the standard. Lasooing together white-knuckle posthardcore tension, sharply focused slowcore serenity, and resplendent jazz complexity, Karate eschewed settling in any one definiable style. But they certainly used the language of punk to get their point across; occasionally, guitarist Geoff Farina abandons his warm, hushed cadences for a hoarse shout that made him sound ragged, intensifying an aggression that burst out with every snaggletoothed guitar riff or drum snap that went off like canonfire. Few followed their path—but who could keep up? Karate could make pensive moods blossom into feverish rollicking (“What Is Sleep?”), gracefully tip-toe around aggressive punk explosions without getting bent out of shape (“Bodies”), and stretch out slowcore’s quietest reveries till their reflective notes sound ripped from an improvisational jazz session (“Caffeine or Me?”). Karate formally introduced the trio as a vital part of an independent U.S. punk scene stubbornly flowering in the face of the major labels’ ’90s harvest.

LIMITED EDITION OF 5000 180 GRAM OPAQUE DARK BLUE VINYLProduced by Brian Paulson at River North Recorders in Chicago and released by Touch and Go Records in April of 1991, the six songs on Spiderland methodically mapped a shadowy new continent of sound. The music is taut, menacing, and haunting; its structure built largely on absence and restraint, on the echoing space between the notes, but punctuated by sudden thrilling blasts of unfettered fury. It is a sound that no one had heard before and that no one will ever forget. The eerie, now-iconic black and white cover photo of the four-band member’s heads breaking the surface of the water was taken by their friend Will Oldham. Spiderland spawned a whole new genre, frequently called Post-Rock, and came to be regarded as one of the most important and influential records of the past thirty years. SLINT broke up shortly before Spiderland was released. Band members went on to play in Tortoise, the Breeders, Palace, The For Carnation, Papa M, Evergreen, Interpol, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Numero Group boxset providing chapter and verse on American slowcore pioneers Duster. Although short-lived, the trio dealt in uniquely spaced-out post-rock soundscapes over the course of two albums, one EP and a handful of singles and compilation contributions around the turn of the millennium.

While Duster went into hibernation in the year 2000, Clay Parton’s four-track never stopped rolling. Recorded alone at home over several years, Birds To The Ground is an album of 30-something, post-9/11 malaise. Under his Eiafuawn (Everything Is All Fucked Up And What Not) acronym Parton hides beneath layers of fuzzy and clean guitars, his hesitant, cottony vocal disappear into noise. “I’ll be a ghost, you’ll go out dancing,” he confirms.

Released on Parton’s long-running The Static Cult Label in 2006, the album was ignored upon release, though managed to get a one-time pressing on the Swedish Pillowscars imprint a couple years later. An album’s worth of songs were dribbled out on a few Internet forums but a follow up never materialized. “That sweet studio deal never worked out, and the tape machines are just collecting dust in the garage,” Parton last wrote of the project.

Duster is made up of two members, C. Amber and E. Parton, with occasional help from their friends on drums and recording duties. Stratosphere is mainly recorded at their home on four track. At times, they sound like Pavement and other times like Seely with higher pitched male vocals. Stratosphere demonstrates their guitar-based focus, riding on the flow of duel picking guitar melodies. With many guitars switching dynamic roles and riding on tunings, Duster sounds a bit like early Sonic Youth. Bass and drums act as the bottom, while guitars playfully find their melody by feeding off one another, throwing notes back and forth. The four-track recording element brings a wonderful space warmth or humidity to Stratosphere, which keeps you flying in the air or floating in space. A hard task with a four-track recording is the recording of the vocals. For atmospheric affect, it works. The voice provides texture to the plucking guitars, but no lyrics are understood. They act as instruments. Along with guitars and vocals, many great manipulations with tape noise as background effects exist on Stratosphere. "Echo Bravo" is definitely the highlight of the record. A long build of noise and whiny guitars rev up the track with a steady drum machine beat creating stress and tension. When is it going to give? Then, it finally busts. Distorted guitars in a heavy breakdown find their cues. Vocals appear 2:45 seconds in to deliver a depressing calming element in the lazy delivery. The record may be a bit long for some listeners, clocking in at 53 minutes. Stratosphere is best listened to at different times; tracks may be isolated or the record can be divided in parts. Duster are at their finest when they play with dynamics. Many tunes have a loud and a soft part, but they are never predictable. The transition is always interesting or takes you by surprise. ~ Francis Arres

Hovering somewhere at the intersection of Nirvana and Neil Young, Rex exploded—or drifted, rather—onto the slowcore scene in the mid-1990s. Taking its cue from bands like Codeine, which drummer Doug Scharin was a part of, Rex managed to synthesize the dynamic eruptions of grunge, twinkling guitars of folk, and sprawling string arrangements of chamber pop on its seminal 1996 album, C. In recording C, Scharin, along with bandmates Curtis Harvey and Phil Sprito, created an untamable and uncategorizable beast. The album’s 11 tracks clock in at an hour and 7 minutes, most often winding from folk warbles to distortion-drenched power chords and back. End-to-end, listening to C feels like being granted access to one of the band’s most unfettered jams.

This five LP box includes the Karate's Unsolved, Some Boots, and Pockets albums, a first time vinyl pressing of their Cancel/Sing EP, and recently unearthed rehearsal recordings of two unreleased tracks.

Explore the Duster universe on the far superior 45RPM format. This deluxe triple 7” box contains Duster’s first single—1997’s Transmission Flux (including “Stars Will Fall” & “Orbitron”), 1998’s Apex, Trance-Like (featuring “Four Hours”), plus Stratosphere’s painfully absent “Echo, Bravo” and the lost 2002 outtake “What You’re Doing To Me.” Housed in replica sleeves and placed in a sturdy two-piece box, Moods, Modes also contains a Duster-branded hanky for those who like to accessorize.

2022年度リプレス。アメリカのインディ・ロック・バンド、Bedheadが1998年2月10日に〈Trance Syndicate Records〉に残した3枚目のスタジオ・アルバムが〈Numero〉からアナログ・リイシュー。Steve Albiniがエンジニアを務めた本バンド唯一のレコードであり、前作よりもアップテンポで激しく歪んだサウンドを披露したスロウコア/オルタナティヴ・ロックの傑作！

After a 19-year hiatus, Duster came back with their S/T chef-d'oeuvre in 2019. Recorded in band member Clay Parton’s garage (aka Low Earth Orbit), the record bears all the hallmarks of the band’s early work: gaunt basslines, spindly guitars, and melancholy lyrics that lurk in the background.

A lingering guitar note. A cushion of a bassline nudging along a hushed cadence unspooling impressionistic poeticism one halting line at a time; the sparse snap of a snare providing punctuation. This is how Boston’s Karate opened their third full-length, 1998’s The Bed Is In The Ocean. Perhaps this was a reaction to the aggressive punk tones that marked their previous album, or maybe they hoped to capture the somnambulant dusk on one of those pristine fall days that make living in a town whose population swells when colleges welcome back students all worthwhile. Then again, Karate never made a point of chasing the same idea twice, and “There Are Ghosts” remains in line with the band’s stylistic intrepidness and unpredictability. Even the group’s lineup appeared constantly in flux. After expanding from a trio to a quartet and employing a dual-guitar attack with 1997’s In Place of Real Insight, founding member Eamonn Vitt hung up his axe to attend medical school. Karate soldiered on as a trio, with mid-stream addition Jeff Goddard’s bass work helping establish a sidewinding path forward through the smoky jazz melodicism and sun-beaten blues brushstrokes that hung in the background of the band’s catalog. In their short time together, Karate helped bolster the national punk ecosystem, a scene in which individual artistic vision was prized but rarely achieved. Their exacting precision and emotive interplay helped recombine the DNA of the dignified grace of slowcore, the hot-and-sweaty atmospherics of the blues, and the high-wire tension of post-hardcore to deliver drawling instrumental curveballs and a furtive riptide climax with a controlled grace on “Outside Is The Drama.” Singer-guitarist Geoff Farina frequently teased out the emotional nuances of each song, his worn-in voice shading in the complexities of his enigmatic lyrics; no matter how difficult it may be to parse his snatched-from-daily-life wisdoms, on The Bed Is In The Ocean Farina sounded like a guy who knew exactly the right thing to tell whoever may be listening. And with Karate’s snaking turns through quasi-punk reveries no one else appeared capable of mustering, it’s comforting to hear it accomplished by a band that knew exactly what they were doing.

Their shambolic 1994 debut, remastered from the original tapes and presented in lavish, gatefold form. A mix of restrained loud and purposeful quiet, WhatFunLifeWas’s eleven tracks unfold at a marathon runner’s pace, picking up speed when necessary, but its eye on completing a personal race. Singer Matt Kadane’s soft, semi-drawl is buried in the mix, letting brother Bubba and Tench Coxe’s guitars weave cleanly around drummer Trini Martinez’s all-ride-all-the-time timekeeping.

At Richard Swift's National Freedom studios, the live-to-tape ethos allowed the songs on Damien Jurado's 'Maraqopa' to expand and retract like a great beast's breath. Every in-the-moment bell and whistle here is hung with a natural, casual care. And from this, each song offers up its own unique gift: the enchanting children's choir that echoes each line of Jurado's lament for innocence lost on "Life Away from the Garden"; the breezy bossa nova that begins "This Time Next Year" and rises as effortless as a smoke cloud into high-noon showdown pop; "Reel to Reel"'s wobbly, Spector-symphony and its meta themes; the wonderful falsetto vocal work Jurado pulls from himself on "Museum of Flight." The Seattle Times recently called Jurado "Seattle's folk-boom godfather," a praising recognition to be sure. But also a title Jurado might not yet be ready to accept. That's a title for someone who has settled. With each visit to National Freedom, Jurado is exploring, taking risks. He's not only freeing his songs. The gate is opened wide to allow us all into his once-isolated musical universe. One gets the sense he's just now hitting his stride.