Prefuse 73

Guillermo Scott Herren, as Prefuse 73 is known to his mum, is most certainly his own man. Half-Catalan, half-Irish/Cuban, he forsook a burgeoning career as a Dirty South rap producer to branch out on his own under the pseudonym Delarosa and Asora. That was 12 years ago, and Herren is now releasing the fifth full-length album under his Prefuse 73 monicker. As ever, it's a tricky - if not impossible - task to pin him to a genre, but here's a taster: glitch hop, IDM, psychedelic, and his own term, "machine funk".

The implications for Ampexian ring true enough. Here is a 29-track collection of cuts ranging from 13 seconds to four minutes; from dreamy choral samples to dub loops and back again. He's nothing if not prolific, as his rich back catalogue suggests.

The more surprising aspect is just how well the LP works as a whole. Rather than jarring from style to style, the procession through moods, genres and methods is handled with care, and while successive tracks can be utterly fresh, they're never reached illogically.

It's a quality evident largely because of Herren's decision to renounce straight digital recording and instead imprint to analogue Ampex tape - an altogether more intensive method, apparently. The result, however, is one of cohesion, warmth and timelessness among all the electronic gubbins.

Of the eight tracks lasting longer than two minutes, DEC Machine Funk revives early Cornelius material, Regato juxtaposes an irresistible clockwork beat with picked guitar, and Simple Loop Choir fulfils its titular promise, doing away with percussion in favour of an ethereal vocal progression.

Its successor, No Lights Still Rock, generously re-applies glitch hop stylings before Digan Lo, the album's most fully developed track, raises the bar further still with the kind enduring, wistful trip-hop Air made their own with Moon Safari.

Of the sub-two minutes tracks - and there are some 21 of them - Herren exhibits, arranges and toys with any number of samples, loops and effects. A measure of the man, it's practically impossible to decipher which he dug up and which he's fashioned from scratch, but the entire affair remains spookily linear.

Ampexian, though far from conventional, is a thoroughly enjoyable listen, and that, surely, was the aim of Prefuse 73 - the myriad of sounds are a pleasure in and of themselves, and the task of sourcing and patching them together sounds as if it were undertaken lovingly; no need to throw shapes or select only a few tracks for repeat spins.

Another feather safely and securely in his cap, Lord only knows what's next for Herren. His legacy already assured in his field (or fields, perhaps) with no apparent signs of slowing down, this is further evidence of the enduring, glitchy charm of Prefuse 73, and another compelling reason to seek him out.

Great Northern

If Remind Me Where the Light Is is any indication, in the battle between sonic ambition and career ambition, Great Northern has taken sides with the latter camp. The L.A.-based four-piece’s LP is filled with brand-new songs that you’ll vaguely recognize. And that’s the problem: It’s hard to identify exactly what’s special about an album that sounds so uncannily like so much other music.

There’s something to be said for giving the people what they want -- or at least, what they already know. Great Northern does that here without wholly buffing down all their edges. The disc’s opener, "Story," is slightly dreamy, with Rachel Stolte’s lovely vocals alternately moving from urgent to soaring against a lush backdrop of bells and guitars. "Fingers" begins as a sparse, hushed, noir lament and builds to a catchy, and very nearly orchestral, variant on pop. "Stop," softly sung by guitarist/vocalist Solon Bixler, is a cross between a lullaby and dirge. "Mountain," meanwhile, feels and sounds epic and expansive in every single way, with drummer Davey Latter and bassist Ashley Dzerigian contributing heavily to the song’s wall of sound. Clearly, this is a band of talented musicians with the skills to write grandiose songs.

But this is an album that’s extremely clean -- the spic-and-span sonics might be the work of producer Michael Patterson (Beck, Puff Daddy, She Wants Revenge). Even if it might help Great Northern achieve some broader success, all that cleansing has buffed away much of the band’s character. Add to that the radio-friendly songwriting and Remind Me Where the Light Is starts to seem like an album designed not to offend or even surprise.

The Crocodiles Review

Even without "Neon Jesus" — the single that garnered Crocodiles quite a bit of web attention just before this release — Summer of Hate stands strong as a tremendous debut: one that pays heavy tribute to its influences while never seeming overly derivative. Crocodiles' band name, which references Echo & the Bunnyman's 1980 album, is a telling clue that Charles Rowell and Brandon Welchez are well versed in neo-psychedelia, British post-punk, and noise pop.

The crunchy guitars bring to mind Spacemen 3, the tremolo keyboards and drum machines show reflections of Suicide, and the production-style of cavernous vocals masked by sheets of white noise comes straight out of the Jesus and Mary Chain handbook.

While many other bands out there have attempted to rehash the scummy sounds of yesteryear (Black Rebel Motorcycle Club comes to mind), rarely does anyone take it to another level so successfully.

Summer of Hate manages to simultaneously revitalize the old and be relevant amidst modern trends with the duo bookmarking themselves neatly into the increasingly popular lo-fi/noise resurgence alongside similar-minded bands Crystal Stilts, Vivian Girls, and their labelmates Wavves, whose album was released on Fat Possum several weeks before Summer of Hate.

Hipster appeal notwithstanding, Crocodiles are more than just a band with the right sound at the right time. Under their raw demeanor, they're surprisingly adept at creating sweet melodies, with the "Just Like Honey" of the album, "I Want to Kill" grinding nihilistically over a sugary pop hook that recalls the Crystals, and wild swirling feedback propelling the mesmerizing seven-minute wash of "Summer of Hate."