The Thermals
Apparently I was the only one who felt disappointed by 2006’s The
Body, the Blood, the Machine. Even while recognizing the care in
their craft and understanding the slower tempos, the Thermals are a
band I still prefer fast and nonchalant. That’s how they come across on
this ace four-song freebie from an indie-rock site that aims to amass a
library to rival the BBC Session archives. The session includes two
songs from the last album, a cover of the Wipers’ “Misfit,” and best of
all the great vinyl rarity “Everything Thermals,” their version of “Hey
Hey We’re the Monkees”: “The Thermals go right to your head/The
Thermals have sex in your bed.”
Kalabrese
Do you like minimal techno best when it reaches furthest, when it
evokes bodies in motion rather than hard drives on the fritz, when it
occasionally (whisper it) has some singing? That fits as a bare
description of Swiss weirdo Kalabrese. His Rumpelzirkus was one
of the most admirable dance albums of last year, which is a polite way
of saying I wish I’d enjoyed it more. Yet his recent edition of the
world’s best podcast—the weekly DJ sets from the dance world’s
Pitchfork—is seamless and addictive, slipping between
Chilean folk music, Kalabrese’s own deeply weeded tracks, and the
vintage Detroit techno of Kevin Saunderson. The beat and mood are
consistently lush and sparse, building a continuous line that takes
some 52 minutes to build and wriggle its way to an actual anthem,
Efdemin’s “Just a Track” (“If house was a nation, I want to be
president”). It’s followed by Henrik Schwarz remixing Camille into what
might as well be Ambien. All of it fits perfectly.
Moby
Last Night (Album Mash-Up Mix)
I still like Play plenty. 18 had a couple decent
songs. Hotel? Zilch. Now Moby is set to release Last
Night, said to be his return to dance music, teasing it with this
eight-minute toss-together of various bits from the new disc. This
method robs the songs of their natural vibrance, I’m sure, though the
fact that the restrained wah-wah guitar licks he’s been overusing since
Play are what stand out in the mélange isn’t a good sign.
(Neither are “Alice” or “Disco Lies,” the two singles.) But for the
last minute and a half—wow: fast piano licks, looped samples of
screaming divas, dance-your-ass-off high-hat hisses. This is what Moby
does better than anything else; if it sounds half as good at full
length as here, I’ll be amazed.