Author Archives: Joseph Neff

Brothers Mark and Clive Ives have been making music since the early 1970s as the creative engine of the UK outfit Woo. Having released their debut in 1982, they collaborated with Independent Project Records later in the decade, and now, after a break of over 35 years, that relationship has been rekindled with Xylophonics + Robot X. Distinct but complementary, these two sets, initially assembled and issued in 2016–’17, are packaged together and given a physical release for the first time, available now on double vinyl (black or clear) and double compact disc, each exquisitely designed as is the IPR way.

As a significant portion of their early material has been reissued or given archival release in the 21st century by a variety of labels including Drag City, Emotional Rescue, and Palto Flats, Woo has been described as a cult band, a tag that fits as the Ives brothers’ work resists easy encapsulation. Additionally, Woo long persisted outside of the standard music industry mechanisms, with a high percentage of their recorded output initially self-released, a practice that has extended into our current digital reality.

Woo had been privately busy for roughly a decade before they put out Whichever Way You Are Going, You Are Going Wrong. Well received by the UK music press, that album was reissued by Bruce Licher’s Independent Project Records in 1988, with the label bringing out It’s Cozy Inside the next year. These initial releases inspired comparisons to kosmische, The Durutti Column, and Brian Eno, but as the ’90s progressed Woo had earned the New Age appellation, and fairly so, as much of their output was openly intended for relaxation, deep listening, healing, meditation, and therapy sessions.

After seeing widespread derision from the moment of its arrival (while being consumed in large quantities), New Age music has seen an upswing in esteem over the last few decades, and Woo’s work in this admittedly wide open territory (often just as easily assessed as ambient) belongs on the positive side of the style’s quality spectrum. But it’s clear straight off that Robot X stands outside the New Age genre while maintaining a few loose ties to the kosmische root.

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Remembering Ronnie Lane, born on this day in 1946. —Ed.

Small Faces stand as one of the very finest groups of the 1960s, though many know them mainly for Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake, their most ambitious and final album before Steve Marriott’s departure effectively ended their diminutive phase. The scoop is that all of the Small Faces’ ‘60s records are worthy of ownership, even the mercantile odds-and-ends collection From the Beginning. That disc and its self-titled predecessor are currently available as 180gm replica LPs. Are they cut to lacquer from the original quarter-inch production masters with front-laminated sleeves? Why yes indeed.

One gauge of the true greats is that the music manages to get better, or at least maintains a high standard of quality, as the discs take their place in the racks. So it is with the Small Faces. With this said the Decca period offers distinct and enduring appeal; more so than The Who, the Small Faces circa-’65-’66 are the true ambassadors of Mod. Utterly Brit in orientation, it wasn’t until the fourth LP that the group entered the US market.

The Small Faces consisted of Steve Marriott on vocals, guitar and harmonica, Ronnie Lane on bass, Kenney Jones on drums and percussion, and initially Jimmy Winston on keyboards. Upon signing to Decca through the efforts of manager Don Arden, they released two singles in ’65. The first “What’cha Gonna Do about It” charted, hitting #14, while the second “I’ve Got Mine” didn’t. Shortly thereafter, Winston was replaced by Ian McLagan, the new keyboardist assisting 3rd 45 “Sha-La-La-La-Lee” in reaching the #3 spot. A full-length followed a few months later.

Sporting the brass to open with “Shake” in Sam Cooke’s tempo, ’66’s Small Faces starts out strong and never really falters, which is impressive for a debut comprised roughly equally, as was the norm of the time, of originals and borrowed/cover material. Neither tentative nor betraying instrumental greenness, the Small Faces were also unburdened by conflict over what they wanted to be.

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Hey Panda, the new release from the enduring English outfit the High Llamas, is an immersion and distension of contemporary pop music from a man, one Sean O’Hagan, long known for reinvigorating sounds from the past. But with strong songwriting and a respectful approach at its core, the endeavor succeeds with flying colors. The earned chutzpah of a veteran musician adds value. The album is out on vinyl, compact disc, and digital March 29 through Drag City Records of Chicago.

Hey Panda’s radical departure renders direct comparisons to O’Hagan’s earlier work not particularly useful. However, it serves a purpose, especially for those long familiar with the High Llamas, to relate that (after a break of eight years) this new record is a legit progression from (if not always a discernible extension of) the chamber-avant-electronic pop that precedes it.

Key to Hey Panda’s success is O’Hagan’s sincere appreciation for the contemporary pop forms he’s engaging with and distorting; He’s not pranking or trolling or even really subverting these forms, but instead applying fresh techniques and ambiances to the songs he’s written. And not just applying those methods, but laying them on thick.

O’Hagan cites J Dilla as his biggest inspiration in making Hey Panda, and if anybody would know, it’s him. But there are also moments that trigger thoughts of the Japanese pop-auteurs Haruomi Hosono and Ryuichi Sakamoto (and naturally, the Yellow Magic Orchestra), plus similarities in tactics to Cornelius and Jim O’Rourke.

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Today, bassist-cellist-composer-bandleader Ron Carter is described without overstatement as a jazz ambassador, but flash back to the early 1960s and he was but one of many skilled young players on the scene. As talent attracts talent, Carter’s debut album Where? is as notable for its sidemen as it is for spotlighting an artist destined for greatness. On March 29 Craft Recordings brings out a fresh edition of this 1961 album on 180 gram vinyl as part of their ongoing Original Jazz Classics reissue series. Where? remains a pleasurable listen, its appealing air of the casual enhancing subtle inventiveness.

Initially released on Prestige Records’ New Jazz subsidiary (it is this edition that Original Jazz Classics and now Craft Recordings have reissued), Where? has been described as a likeably minor effort. While not wrongheaded, it’s an assessment that perhaps overlooks the value that accrues as time is spent with the recording. The lack of desperation to impress and the avoidance of safe choices do come into focus.

Glancing at the personnel, a curious party could be forgiven for thinking that either Prestige or Carter stacked the lineup to ensure an immediate impression. The beautifully unique Eric Dolphy is here on alto saxophone, bass clarinet, and flute. A more subtly distinctive explorer of jazz’s essence, Mal Waldron is the pianist. The ever dependable Charlie Persip is the drummer and the equally reliable George Duvivier is on bass as Carter plays cello on three tracks.

But Where? connects somewhat like a workshop session as Carter brings two originals (opener “Rally” and “Bass Duet”) to a program that’s rounded out with a pair of jazz standards (Hammerstein and Romberg’s “Softly, as in a Morning Sunrise” and Sy Oliver’s “Yes, Indeed”) and two by Randy Weston, a pianist-composer noted as a contemporary of the musicians in the band (the title track and closer “Saucer Eyes”).

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The UK-based dub behemoth Creation Rebel returned last year with Hostile Environment, an album as pleasurable to the ear as it was an unexpected development. Smartly sustaining the positive energy, the On-U Sound label is releasing High Above Harlesden 1978–2023 as a 6CD boxset and digital download, plus corresponding vinyl reissues of the group’s debut and its follow-up Dub From Creation and Close Encounters of the Third World (both 1978), Rebel Vibrations (’79), Starship Africa (’80) and Psychotic Jonkanoo (’81). Along with a 36-page booklet, the boxset offers the contents of those five records, along with Hostile Environment and a handful of bonus tracks. It’s all out on March 29.

The Creation Rebel story is pretty well established. The roots are in vocalist Prince Far I’s 1978 album Cry Tuff Dub Encounter Chapter 1, where members of Creation Rebel are part of the credited support band the Arabs. As Creation Rebel they backed Prince Far I in live performance and served as the foundation for Adrian Sherwood’s debut production, released not by On-U Sound but as the first release on Hitrun, the label co-founded by Sherwood and Peter “Dr. Pablo” Stroud.

Engineered by Dennis Bovell, that release is Dub From Creation, an assured and wonderfully bent dub excursion where the core stylistic competency of the participants is elevated by sheer inspiration. Reflected in Stroud’s nickname, the presence of his melodica establishes a similarity to Augustus Pablo, but more importantly, the album’s gradual progression brings stranger atmospheres. After the unusually fast pace of “Mirage,” the record gets farther and farther out until finale “Vision of Creation” makes it emphatically clear Dub From Creation is far more than an exercise in standard dub style.

Scarce for decades and extremely pricey as an original, Close Encounters of the Third World was the second Creation Rebel album to be released chronologically. Something of a vocal-heavy offshoot from the stronger Rebel Vibrations, the standalone vinyl reissue Close Encounters is very welcome even as the album is the least of the group’s records in terms of impact.

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Remembering Lee Scratch Perry in advance of his birthdate tomorrow. —Ed.

Of records, legendary Jamaican producer Lee “Scratch” Perry has released a ton; setting aside the singles and EPs, his non-compilation album total is hovering near 100, and for an artist outside the jazz realm, that’s a considerable achievement. Of course, the number of individuals who own a copy of every one of those full-lengths might fit comfortably into a four-door sedan, a possibility illuminating that Perry’s prolificacy doesn’t equate to his prime. 

When you make as many records as Lee Perry has, they can’t all be brilliant. Hell, the majority of them are unlikely to resonate with more than moderate levels of personal investment. I say unlikely because I’ll confess that haven’t listened to more than half of his output; Discogs lists 87 full-length albums and 97 comps, and I’ve a sneaking suspicion there are scads of releases that haven’t been logged, plus beaucoup stray singles and EPs (to say nothing of the dodgy gray-market stuff).

Succinctly, after hearing a fair portion of Perry’s later material I realized I should cease investigating those more recent progressions and just hang with the canonical stuff. If all this seems poised to besmirch the guy’s rep as a dub innovator-auteur, I will counter that fluctuating personal investment isn’t the same as lacking a recognizable stamp; if the majority of his post-’70s work is far from essential, I’ve never heard anything that faltered into anonymous hackery.

Lee Perry very much fits in with certain cineastes from the early days of auteurism. Specifically, like numerous directors who worked under studio contracts and would begin another film almost immediately after their last one was finished, Perry has created, if not incessantly, then at a clip that has insured a diminishment in his masterpiece percentage, a downward plummet to what some folks might consider journeyman levels had the man’s achievements not been integral to the growth and longevity of Jamaican music.

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Outer World is the new project of Kenneth Close and Tracy Wilson, the couple previously noted as half of the Richmond, VA outfit Positive No. “Who Does the Music Love?” is Outer World’s debut, a 7-song mini-LP joining myriad other releases that were shaped by the COVID era, but with a particularly negative impact in this case; Wilson’s lungs were damaged by a bout of long COVID, effectively spelling the end of Positive No, where her vocal belting was an integral part of the weave. But in a sweet turn, Outer World is a fruitful creative reset, stylistically wide-ranging, scaled-back and yet bursting with energy. It’s out March 22 on black or blue vinyl through Happy Happy Birthday To Me Records.

On the subject of powerful pipes, Tracy Wilson strengthened hers as the vocalist for Dahlia Seed, a quite snazzy 1990s indie/ post-hardcore aggregation with a fleet, pulverizing attack and constructive underlying finesse. The eventual emergence of Positive No (as Wilson relocated from New Jersey to Richmond) brought a turn to the melodic, but this band could still let it fly and with Wilson’s prowess at the mic undiminished.

The damage done to Wilson’s lungs by long COVID serves to emphasize the range of impact the virus had across the pandemic. More than the extremes of deaths on one side and overlapping inconveniences (social distancing, remote recording, delays in recording and tours) on the other, in this case COVID robbed Wilson of what she calls her “big voice.” That she was eventually able to overcome lingering side effects and create Outer World’s new framework alongside Close is inspiring, but it’s also a reminder that others faced with similar circumstances haven’t been as lucky.

Don’t get the idea that “Who Does the Music Love?” is a quiet, timid affair. Far from it straightaway, as opener “The Drum the Beat” is a boisterous, keyboard-infused rocker with full band verve, as the live drums come courtesy of Keith Renna of Positive No and additional vocals are contributed by Lira Mondal of Sweeping Promises. Notably, Outer World’s six-song demo was honed and one more song was recorded at Sweeping Promises’ home studio in Lawrence, KS during the summer of 2022.

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Remembering Lightnin’ Hopkins, born on this day in 1912. —Ed.

Lightnin’ Sam Hopkins remains one of the crucial figures in the annals of the blues. By extension, he recorded a ton, and owning all his music will require diligence and a seriously long shelf. However, there are a few albums that are a must even for casual blues collectors, and his self-titled effort from 1959 is one of them. Recorded by historian Samuel Charters in Hopkins’ apartment while he played a borrowed guitar, it served as the door-opener to years of prominence. A highly intimate gem of nimble-fingered deep blues feeling, Lightnin’ Hopkins is available through Smithsonian Folkways, remastered from the source tapes in a tip-on jacket with Charters’ original notes.

To call Lightnin’ Hopkins the byproduct of rediscovery isn’t inaccurate, but it does risk stripping the contents of its unique story. Unlike Son House, Skip James, Bukka White, and John Hurt (all from Mississippi), Texan Hopkins had only been inactive for a few years when Samuel Charters found and recorded him in Houston, and if he’d been playing since the 1930s, he was still very much in his musical prime.

Hopkins debuted on record in 1946 for the Aladdin label of Los Angeles in tandem with pianist Wilson “Thunder” Smith, the partnership bringing him his sobriquet. From there, a solid decade of studio dates (and some R&B chart action) commenced; his additional sides for Aladdin fill a 2CD set, and the sessions for Gold Star take up two separate CD volumes. Additionally, there were worthy recordings for Modern, Sittin’ in With, and majors Mercury and Decca. 1954 brought a massive spurt of wild, highly amplified material for the Herald label; it contrasts sharply with the one-man circumstance of Lightnin’ Hopkins.

If commercial recording industry prospects had dried up by ’59 and Hopkins’ guitar was in hock, there was no trace of rustiness from inactivity, though the comfort level does increase as these songs progress (the bottle of gin Charters bought likely had something to do with it). What’s shared with his prior electric band stuff is a recognizable, eventually signature style based in the conversation between rural blues verve and more citified boogie motion (in this he shares much with John Lee Hooker).

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Remembering Shirley Scott, born on this day in 1934. —Ed.

Credited to tenor saxophonist Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis with organist Shirley Scott, Craft Recordings’ 4LP/4CD/digital set Cookin’ with Jaws and the Queen: The Legendary Prestige Cookbook Albums offers 23 tracks cut during three 1958 sessions recorded by Rudy Van Gelder and first released as three separate Cookbook volumes and the Smokin’ LP between ’58–’64. The 180 gram vinyl is limited to 5,000 copies with the records housed in individual jackets replicating those original sleeves. The CD edition has three bonus tracks from the same sessions. The music is early soul jazz personified.

A curious jazz newbie might be wondering if this set is an overabundance of goodness. To which I will retort that Cookin’ with Jaws and the Queen offers thorough documentation of a sharp as brass tacks quintet from inside a concise timeframe; the first session occurred on June 20, the second on September 12, and the third on December 5 of 1958, with Davis and Scott joined by Jerome Richardson on flute, tenor, and baritone sax, George Duvivier on bass, and Arthur Edgehill on drums.

For this reissue, Davis and Scott are given equal credit, and deservedly so, but on initial release it was the saxophonist who received top billing, which is also understandable, as Scott was relatively new on the scene while Davis had been a member of Count Basie’s orchestra twice, along with cutting a string of records as leader or co-leader, as was the case with The Battle of Birdland with fellow tenor Sonny Stitt, issued in 1955 by the Roost label.

But in fact, Scott was indeed given a “Featuring” credit on two prior albums with Davis’s trio (with Duvivier and Edgehill), one released by Roost and the other by Roulette, both in ’58. What this imparts is how the addition of Richardson deepened a core that was already rock solid through experience. This is vitally important, as the group knocked out 26 tracks in three days spaced out over half a year.

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Meiko Kaji is justly celebrated by fans of international genre cinema as the star of the 1973 film Lady Snowblood and its sequel from the next year. Alongside a sizeable filmography, she recorded an extensive body of work as a singer that amassed a dedicated following. The Wewantsounds label has been catering to her fanbase with high-quality reissues, and they’ve just released her 1972 debut Gincho Wataridori in an attractive gatefold sleeve deluxe edition with an insert and an OBI strip. It’s a musically swank affair, sturdy as pop but with cinematic sweep. Aficionados of global sounds, step right up.

Due to its outsized impact on Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill double banger, Lady Snowblood is Meiko Kaji’s most well-known film with the international audience, but she was busy before and after, and reliably in the role of a single-minded vengeance seeker; if Meiko Kaji starred in a film, it was a cinch that bloody mayhem would be part of the scheme.

Debuting in a supporting role in Retaliation (1968) billed as Masako Ota (her birth name), many standalone films and series followed. Regarding the latter, there was the Stray Cat/Alley Cat Rock series (five films, 1970–71), the Sasori series aka Female Prisoner Scorpion series (four films, 1972–73) and the two Gincho or Wandering Ginza Butterfly films (1972), the first of them giving Kaji’s debut LP its name.

Although the title song and “Ginchou Buruusu” from the film Gincho Wataridori are included on this album, it is not a soundtrack. The record also includes “Koini Inochio” and “Jingi Komoriuta” from Blind Woman’s Curse (1970), the final entry in the Rising Dragon series, and notably, the film where Masako Ota became Meiko Kaji.

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As detailed in the booklet accompanying the Guerssen label’s new reissue of the sole LP by Samuel Prody, there’s an eventful backstory that precedes the formation of this obscure British band. Rather than recount it all here, it suffices to mention that this four-piece outfit grew out of Giant, a gigging group that briefly featured Viv Prince of the Pretty Things on drums. The sturdiness of Samuel Prody’s material makes this edition, remastered and officially rereleased for the first time, a worthwhile acquisition for hard rock fans. The set is available now on vinyl and compact disc.

Samuel Prody (altered from Samuel Purdy) featured Tony Savva (guitar, bass, lead vocals), John Boswell (drums, vocals), Derek “Morty” Smallcombe (lead guitar, vocals), and Stephen Day (bass, vocals). Once these cats came together, they recorded an LP’s worth of material that was released eponymously only in Germany in 1971, and unbeknownst to the band until much later, after the album had been reissued a few times; originals have sold in the ballpark of $500.

Engineered by noted hard rock specialist Roy Thomas Baker, the contents of Samuel Prody are, when the band gets down to business, legitimately heavy, and the instrumentation is consistently sharp. The band travels down a handful of psychedelic avenues in the record’s less heavy moments, and to largely non-detrimental results, but neither are they particularly adept at getting expansive. But it should be added that all seven tracks on this LP do find the band kicking it into heavy gear, though in opener “Who Will Buy” it does take a little while.

Had they chosen to not swerve from (and lean into) the path of heaviness, my assumption is this LP would be held in even higher retrospective esteem. Sometimes compared to Black Sabbath, Samuel Prody’s strong suit is more accurately a hard edged boogie (see the manic “Scat’s Shuffle”). Importantly, they groove but never choogle. There are a few spots reminiscent of first album Sabbath, but it’s necessary to differentiate that Samuel Prody don’t cultivate a dark, downer vibe.

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Fresh out from the always interesting Hive Mind Records is Nicole / Overwhelmed by the Unexplained, which places two EPs on one vinyl disc from Nino Gvilia, an artist described by the label as a singer-songwriter born in Poti near Lake Paliastomi in the country of Georgia. But in reality, Nino Gvilia is the wholly fictional construct of Italian vocalist, sound artist and performance artist giulia deval, her creation intended to inspire contemplation “on the place of the songwriter in times of global crisis.” The record succeeds in its thematic ambitions and most importantly, it sounds good, too.

For this pairing of EPs as an album, Nino Gvilia is responsible for songs, lyrics, vocals, toy guitar, harmonium, and field recordings (with an assumption made that the credited Gvilia is giulia deval). Alongside are her collaborators Zevi Bordovach (arrangements, synth, Hammond, harmonium, vocals), Pietro Caramelli (arrangements, electric guitar, electronics, vocals), Giulia Pecora (violin), and Clarissa Marino (cello). There is also a choir for one track, the excellent “Dirty is just what has boundaries,” that features Bordovach, Caramelli, Amos Cappuccio, Erika Sofia Sollo, Giulia Beccaria, and Matteo Martino.

Conceptual recordings such as this one ultimately sink or swim on how substantial they are as a listening experience; this isn’t to discount a presentation (in this case a fabrication) that’s based in ideas, instead, it’s simply a statement on what should be obvious: if the sounds hold up, then the point(s) being made be given deeper consideration.

Thankfully, the songs and musicianship are sturdy across Nicole / Overwhelmed by the Unexplained, in addition to stylistic range that’s sharpened by a singular, if fictitious, persona (and the very real artist behind it). Opening track “Nicole” is moodily intense with strong singing (up close conversational then boldly soaring) and with its noirish trip-hop air, it’s a decidedly ’90s proposition.

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Celebrating Chris Wright on his 81st birthday. —Ed.

With three enduring hit singles, the last of which derives from a classic album that’s as redolent of its era as any, The Zombies aren’t accurately classified as underrated, but it’s also right to say that the potential of much of their catalog went unfulfilled while they were extant. Since their breakup, subsequent generations have dug into that body of work, which has aged rather well, and right now nearly all of it can be found in Varèse Sarabande’s The Complete Studio Recordings, a 5LP collection released in celebration of the band’s induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. For anyone cultivating a shelf of ’60s pop-rock vinyl, this collection is a smart acquisition.

The Zombies began cohering as a band around 1961-’62 in St Albans, Hertfordshire UK. By the time they debuted on record in ’64 the lineup had solidified, featuring lead vocalist-guitarist Colin Blunstone, keyboardist Rod Argent, guitarist Paul Atkinson, bassist Chris White, and drummer Hugh Grundy. That’s how it would remain until their breakup in December of ’67. Rightly considered part of the mid-’60s British Invasion, The Zombies’ stature in the context of this explosion basically rests on the success of two singles, both far more popular in the US than in the band’s home country.

Those hits, “She’s Not There” and “Tell Her No,” each made the Billboard Top 10 (the former all the way to No. 2) and respectively open sides one and two of the US version of their first album, a move suggesting confidence on the part of their label Parrot that, as the needle worked its way inward, listeners wouldn’t become dismayed or bored by a drop-off in quality.

That assurance was well-founded. While “She’s Not There” is an utter pop gem, thriving on perfectly-judged instrumental construction (in its original, superior mono version with Grundy’s added drum input) and emotional breadth that’s found it long-eclipsing mere oldies nostalgia, and “Tell Her No” a more relaxed yet crisp follow-up, their talents were established beyond those two songs, even if nothing else on The Zombies quite rises to the same heights of quality.

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From Medway in the UK, The Galileo 7 hit the scene in 2010. Their current lineup features not seven members but four: guitarist-vocalist Allan Crockford, organist-vocalist-percussionist Viv Bonsels, bassist-vocalist Paul Moss, and drummer-vocalist Mole. Psych-tinged Mod-ish freakbeat is their specialty and their new record You, Me and Reality, out now on vinyl and compact disc through Damaged Goods, finds them in sharp form across a dozen tracks.

If Allan Crockford’s name rings a bell, that might be because he was in The Prisoners, Medway contemporaries of The Milkshakes (they even cut a split live LP together). After the dissolution of The Prisoners in 1986, Crockford played in a slew of outfits including those of his fellow Prisoners, Graham Day & The Forefathers and The James Taylor Quartet. He also played with Day in the Prime Movers and The Solarflares and even joined Thee Headcoats in the late ’80s for the albums The Earls of Suavedom and Headcoats Down!

But by now, it’s certainly possible that Crockford’s name sets off buzzers of recognition through The Galileo 7’s body of work, as You, Me and Reality is their ninth full-length album. And it surely bears mentioning that The Galileo 7 is more than just Crockford’s show. This new record is the byproduct of a long stable lineup that persevered through the pandemic in the recording of this set.

Opener “Can’t Go Home” comes roaring out of the speakers with just the right blend of melody, harmony, fuzz and pound, as the organ gives it that touch of circa-’66 psychedelia. This is an important distinction, as there is nothing excessive about The Galileo 7’s sound. Instead, they favor sharp tunefulness and economy, as in the title track, which combines jangle pop and freakbeat with soaring vocals as a bonding agent.

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Melbourne, Australia-born and Reykjavík, Iceland-based, Ben Frost returns to the forefront of experimental composition with his first album in seven years, incorporating electronic elements and industrial atmospheres with infusions of noise and even metallic textures. This last aspect is especially prevalent across Scope Neglect, the record’s fascinating sonic excursions simultaneously familiar and alien, caustic and meditative. Following a limited edition white vinyl release on January 11, the black vinyl, compact disc, and digital are all available now via Mute Records.

Ben Frost made his inroads into the music scene early in this century, self-releasing the CDr EP “Music for Sad Children” in 2001 and making a bigger splash with Steel Wound, which was issued by the Room40 label in 2003. Like many of his experimental contemporaries, he’s amassed an expansive discography, both solo and with numerous collaborators, prolific amongst them Lawrence English, Daníel Bjarnason, Nico Muhly, Tim Hecker, Colin Stetson, and Swans. A significant portion of this work has been composed for film and television, along with dance performances and operas.

For his new record, Frost’s has chosen guitarist Greg Kubacki of the New York band Car Bomb and bassist Liam Andrews of Australian act My Disco to assist in the realization of his vision. Kubacki is front and center in Scope Neglect’s opener “Lamb Shift,” a two and a half minute succession of metal miniatures (with just a touch of electronic residue) that grind and lurch and pause but never manage sustained forward motion.

Functioning not as a subversion or a deconstruction but instead as an overlay of variation and repetition, “Lamb Shift” connects organically (rather than clinically) and also serves as a prelude to “Chimera,” where similar start-stop-start metal-isms are present but used to decidedly different effect as part of a dystopian electronic-tinged landscape.

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