A week before Halloween, Dischord is scheduled to release Sessions 1981-83, a new archival release from Columbia, Md.’s Void. One of the first bands to add metallic elements to hardcore punk, Void appeared on two records during its early-'80s existence: the scene-defining D.C. hardcore compilation Flex Your Head, and a split LP with the D.C. hardcore act Faith.

A few years ago, Dischord’s Ian MacKaye began searching his archives for material to expand the Void discography. He came up with an albums’ worth of mostly unreleased recordings, the core of which is a 20-song session from November 1981 that predates Void’s Flex Your Head recordings by a month. Also included is the entirety of Void’s Flex Your Head session, as well as outtakes from Faith/Void, and a couple live tracks from late in the band’s career.

Sessions 1981-83 is reviewed in this week’s City Paper alongside Dischord’s expanded reissue of Faith’s swan song, Subject to Change. As background for the review, I corresponded, via email, with Void guitarist Bubba Dupree and Void bassist Chris Stover about the band’s history and Sessions 1981-83. (I also interviewed members of Faith.)

Were the members of Void in high school during the years covered by Sessions 1981-83?

Dupree: Yes, I graduated in '83.

Did all the members attend the same school?

Dupree: No, I went to public school and those guys went to some fancy prep school.

Stover: [Void drummer] Sean [Finnegan], [Void vocalist] John [Weiffenbach] and I went to Loyola High School in Baltimore. Bubba went to Oakland Mills in Columbia. Bubba did not have the luxury of an all-male catholic boys school education that tends to leave some a little scarred.

What was Columbia, Md., like in those days?

Dupree: It was mostly populated by rednecks and idealistic ex-hippies. Outside of sports or hanging out at the Wawa or running around in the woods, there was absolutely nothing to do.

Stover: Columbia is/was one those Rouse Planned Community deals. Your lawn had to look a certain way. Everything is organized. I lived in one of the neighborhoods that was there before Columbia. You would get this contrast driving out of my neighborhood—with older-looking houses—to brand-newly developed houses and schools, all pristine and perfect. It was an interesting mix of people and architecture.

Also, [given that Columbia] is situated between D.C. and Baltimore, I did not spend a lot of time there, per se. I'd look for any excuse to get out of town to go skate or go to a show, because that stuff just wasn't happening in Columbia.

Void appeared on Flex Your Head back in 1981. How did you first meet Dischord’s Ian MacKaye and Jeff Nelson?

Dupree: I don't really remember. I think Chris and Sean had been hanging out in D.C. a lot, but I wasn't allowed yet to go on long car rides—just to hang out.

Stover: I first met Jeff and Ian when Teen Idles played Oddfellows Hall in Towson, Md., opening for a friend’s band, The Bollocks. Two to three carloads of people from D.C. showed up for the show. From the first note Teen Idles hit, the five to 10 non-D.C.-ites in the room were like, "Holy shit, what the hell is going on?" We became friends soon after.

Who came up with the idea for the Faith/Void split? Were you approached with this idea? Or did it come from Void?

Stover: I believe it was Ian who approached us with the idea. We were excited to be part of the Dischord family, so we were up for anything Jeff and Ian wanted to do.

Dischord spokesperson Alec Bourgeois told me that another label was interested in doing a Void discography. What label was that? Why did you opt for the Sessions 1981-83 project instead?

Stover: Greg [Anderson] from Southern Lord approached me and Bubba about doing something. Dischord has access to most of our materials, so I told Greg we would have to run it by Ian. Ian had said he has been wanting to do this for a while, but was not sure how to approach it. We talked it over and Sessions 1981-83 is the result.

How long had it been since you heard the various recordings included on Sessions 1981-83? Were they a surprise?

Dupree: Since 1981-83, pretty much. I don't even remember recording most of it.

Stover: I could not tell you how long. Seems like forever. I think the real surprise was how much shit Ian had in his archives. Band-practice recordings. Live recordings. All kinds of stuff.

Void has been especially influential in the metal/crossover underground. Was metal an influence when the band was together?

Stover: Definitely. Motorhead. Maiden. Ozzy and Sabbath. The Nuge, pre-NRA/Hunter/whatever-his-gig-is-today.

Before Void broke up, in 1983, the band recorded a full-length for Touch & Go. Why was it shelved?

Stover: Some things are better left unreleased. It’s out there on the Interwebs for free if you want it.

Photo by Jim Saah.

Faith's original lineup. Photo by Malcolm Rivera.

Four months after the band’s final show on August 17, 1983, Faith released a posthumous EP called Subject to Change. One of the classic documents of D.C. hardcore, Faith’s swan song has never gone out of print. But its current incarnation, remastered and reissued by Dischord Records, is certainly the most generous and elegant version.

Reviewed in this week’s paper, the new reissue more than doubles the length of the original EP with the addition of an unreleased December 1981 demo session—Faith’s earliest professional recording.

As background for the review, I corresponded, via email, with Faith vocalist Alec MacKaye and Faith guitarist Michael Hampton about the band’s history and the new reissue. Here are the complete responses.

How long had it been since you heard the demo included on the new Subject to Change plus First Demo? Was it a surprise?

Hampton: A very long time maybe 25 years or so. I always liked that recording better than our later split LP, where we rerecorded some of the songs. There was a "rule" of sorts that you made a demo first and then recorded the real thing when you were ready. The demos from that period tend to be better in my opinion.

MacKaye: I listened so closely and repeatedly to that recording when we made it that it became part of the architecture of my brain. While I don’t listen to it frequently, I’d say I probably listened to it at least once or twice a year since it was made. My past, even the long ago past—is not a very distant planet. Perhaps the most appreciable surprise was how good it sounded with new mastering. At the time we made the demo, it felt like we were rushing a little, trying get down as many tracks as possible, but not knowing how much time we might need to mix. The sensation of headlong, forward energy is evident in the sound.

Sonically, the demo sounds really good. When the band recorded it, was there ever any thought that it might be good enough to release?

Hampton: I like the way that demo sounded (see above) and the new mastering of it and Subject to Change is very good. I seem to recall us wanting it to come out when we did it, though. We sent three songs to the Bad Brains for an ill-fated comp, never released. By sent, I mean the master tape was cut and—the only copy of three tracks—was sent to New York, not really a good idea. The tapes never made it back. When preparing this release a new mix was done by Ian, which sounded good, but didn't have the elements I remembered from the demo. Not being a fan of modern remixes I encouraged Dischord to use the original "vintage" mix, all weird and '81-sounding. The three missing tracks were mastered from my original cassette (not telling which, though).

MacKaye: I think we felt then that we could do better. Fixing mistakes or taking a long time to mix was a luxury we did not have. On top of that, some of the songs were new enough that the rough spots hadn’t settled down, and at that time, with the technology available, there was no amount of mixing that could change that it was a demo, after all—the very idea is that it is a sketch for a record or something to just give an idea of what the band is like. Lo-fi and loose-playing musicians were not appreciated then the way they are now.

Dischord spokesperson Alec Bourgeois tells me that Faith was "beloved" in D.C.; did the band ever play outside of the D.C. area?

Hampton: We were sometimes beloved, sometimes not. History has been kind (in D.C.). Keep in mind we were in high school, so touring was not likely AND we didn't have amps, so we would borrow everything from the bands we played with (that practice was definitely not beloved). Our first out-of-town trip, we played CBGB in Dec. 81 opening for the Bad Brains; later we played again in New York, Baltimore, and Detroit.

MacKaye: Yes, but only a few times. We played in New York City three times—once with the Bad Brains in December of 1981. Glen Friedman took pictures at that show. It was a crazy, packed show. I remember there being so many people backstage that I went out into the club to try and get some space to breathe. People kept asking us if I knew anybody in the
bands. We mostly replied “no” or pointed to strangers and said that they were the bassist or drummer or bassoonist.

We played at the A7 club, around the corner from the Rat Cage. We went up to New York with Deadline and Insurrection and Red C. It was days without sleep… I remember hanging out in Tompkins Square Park, drinking an egg cream at dawn – just before we went on stage to play. We ended up stuffing a dozen or more people into Louie from Antidote’s mother’s one-room apartment in Hoboken to try and get some sleep. She chased us out with a broom around 10 a.m. We sought refuge in a bar, where (Guy [Picciotto] just reminded me of this) there was an old man wearing a house dress and a gumball dispenser filled with peanuts that had become a biosphere for mealworms and maggots.

Another time up in NYC, we played at Great Gildersleeves with Scream. Eddie folded his guitar in half while trying to bend a note and found himself wearing a large necklace of wires and wood by the second song. We had to beg Franz [Stahl] to loan us his brand new guitar—which he did, but a little nervously. I fell/jumped off the high stage and landed on my head, ran out the front door, pushing past Joey Ramone, who was coming in, bent over backwards at the waist, being held up by a woman who stood only as tall as his belt buckle. I don’t know which made me feel dizzier, the head injury or the Joey sighting.

We also played in Detroit—Hamtramck to be precise, at Paycheck’s lounge with Negative Approach, Insurrection and the Allied. Judging from the mail we got from all over the U.S. and Europe, I like to think we were a little bit beloved in other places, too. I suppose it’s a shame that we flamed out before getting a solid tour set up and executed, but it’s also a wonder and a success that we did what we did.

Someone once told me that Faith practiced at the Naval Observatory. True? If so, what's the story behind the practice space? If not, where did the band practice?

Hampton: Ivor Hansen, the drummer of Faith, replaced the drummer in S.O.A. For a few weeks, that band practiced in the house Ivor lived in at the Naval Observatory (his father was an admiral). Faith never did. We practiced first in my parents dining room, then various basements, etc., etc.

MacKaye: Your source was likely referring to S.O.A., Ivor and Michael’s first band. Ivor Hanson’s father, Thor, was in the Navy and at one time they lived on the grounds of the Naval Observatory. I remember rehearsing at Ivor’s home in Virginia at least once. Faith generally rehearsed in Michael Hampton’s basement: A narrow rowhouse in Georgetown, with a sliding glass door that looked out onto a small patio. We came and went through the back gate.

How did the band arrive at the name Faith? It's so much more optimistic and less macho that, say, State of Alert or Untouchables. Was there any particular thinking behind the name?

Hampton: I can't remember, I think it was Chris [Bald] and/or Alec who came up with that name. I wanted to use "Nothing Sacred," which was the name of the band Chris and Alec were working on when we formed Faith.

MacKaye: In my memory, we felt that Faith (or The Faith, as we typically called ourselves) was a stronger-than-macho name. I don’t recall the actual conversation that took place, and, thankfully, I can’t remember the alternate names we nearly used. But we did want something more up-ful and less nihilistic, in spite of our chaotic and sometimes destructive approach to performance.

Faith added a second guitarist, Eddie Janney, between the Void split and Subject to Change. This happened around the same time that other hardcore bands, such as Black Flag and Minor Threat, added second guitarists. What prompted the addition?

Hampton: I'm not sure if there was any connection to what other bands were doing. Eddie was a great guitar player, I was a big fan of his playing; he had been in a band with Alec before. When a lot hardcore bands went "metal" they added guitar players, but that wasn't our plan.

MacKaye: I don’t know why other bands did it, but for us—it gave Michael some room to get some more complex guitar ideas into the songs and softened the impact of guitar malfunctions, which were a constant threat during good shows. Not to mention, we just wanted a fuller sound and we loved the way the Eddie played. In fact, I STILL love the way Eddie plays!

According to the liner notes of the new release, Faith split up four months before Subject to Change came out. How would you characterize the breakup? What led to the band's untimely end?

Hampton: Ivor went to college. We also were not all getting along with each other all the time, so I seem to remember it was a good time to stop. Two years seems like a long time when you are a teenager.

MacKaye: It was strange to stop playing as a band while we—and the scene in general—seemed to be picking up momentum, but it would have been harder to stay together and try to create songs when our personalities and pursuits were diverging. I can’t say exactly what made us decide to quit, but it was getting more difficult to be productive and creative together, and that usually leads to a breakdown. I guess that’s what happened to us. But think of all the bands that come out of The Faith! So I’d say the end was also a beginning…

Do you have any recollections or impressions of Faith's final show? Was the audience aware that the band was breaking up at the time? How did you feel about it?

Hampton: It was billed as the "final" show. It was a pretty big crowd for us I think. My memory is a little foggy on that one. Ivor was off to school and we were ready to stop.

MacKaye: As I recall there was a big poster that announced it was to be our last show—so people might have had some inkling…

It was a pretty emotional gig. I cannot recall many specific details, but afterwards I heard from people who said that it felt like a larger end, of sorts. Not just for our band, but for some epoch in the music scene. I don’t think we ever thought of ourselves in those terms, but in retrospect, I can see what they talking about. A lot of bands that came after us were comprised of kids whose first gigs were D.C. hardcore bands.

On Sunday, the New York Times ran an article about Jim O'Rourke, an underground overachiever who, in addition to recording his own solo music, has played in Sonic Youth and Gastr Del Sol, and worked in various other capacities with Wilco, Joanna Newsom, and Superchunk.

His latest project is the new solo album The Visitor, a recording that, at times, features as many as 200 tracks of instruments.

As one might imagine, an album such as this would require quite an intricate mix, which is perhaps why The Visitor will only be available on CD and vinyl—no digital download.

Here's part of the Ben Ratliff article from NYT:

He’s taking a stand against the sound quality of MP3s; he’s also taking a stand in favor of artists being able to control the medium and reception of their work.

“You can no longer use context as part of your work,” he said, glumly, “because it doesn’t matter what you do, somebody’s going to change the context of it. The confusion of creativity, making something, with this Internet idea of democratization ...” he trailed off, disgusted. “It sounds like old-man stuff, but I think it’s disastrous for the possibilities of any art form.”

He's not the first artist to attempt a download pushback. But is he a part of the vanguard or a dying breed?

Anyone looking for an argument in favor of globalization would do well to consider Cyminology, a promising new jazz quartet made up of musicians from Germany, France, and India. The group’s cross-border reach also extends into Iran, where Cyminology’s leader, singer Cymin Samawatie, spent summers as a youth. The daughter of Iranian parents, Samawatie writes lyrics and sings in Farsi, the Persian language widely spoken in Iran. And, if Farsi-language jazz isn’t cross-cultural enough for you, Samawatie’s wordless vocal on “Naagofte,” one of the tracks on Cyminology’s ECM debut As Ney, is reminiscent of the Brazilian singer Flora Purim. What could’ve been multi-culti mush is actually a crisp take on a familiar format: the piano-bass-drums trio fronted by a female vocalist. Were it not for the lyrics and a Middle Eastern tinge to the melodies, Cyminology might sound like an American band that was raised on Keith Jarrett and Nina Simone records. The appeal is, in other words, borderless.

Cyminology performs Friday, 5/15, at 7:30 p.m. at the Fairfax Community Church, 11451 Braddock Road, Fairfax, Va. $10-12. (703) 745-1030.

If I wrote about a record on this list for publication, I’ve included an excerpt below. If not, I’ve tried to find a good excerpt from another writer, someone I admire. There are no audio samples, because: A) I’m old (mid-thirties) and I don’t even own an iPod and; B) every time I try to teach myself something new on the computer my infant son tells me, in his own baby-rageous way, that I should give up. Happy holidays.

1. Meanderthal, Torche (Hydra Head)

Pitting Torche toe-to-toe with Rihanna may be reaching (people are still grousing about the time Decibel’s resident genius/ heathen Kory Grow dropped Missy Elliot’s name in a Nachtmystium review), but even at its most skittering, math-y moments (“Little Champion”), Meanderthal has a rhythm made to shake rumps. Shame on me, shame on us, we won’t get fooled again. Maybe it’s time to start booking the arena tour. Hello, Cleveland!

—Nick Green, May 2008 issue of Decibel

2. Black Sea, Fennesz (Touch)

One gets the sense that, even as he slouches toward easy listening, Fennesz is wary of making music that is too beautiful or unblemished. There’s a cold, clinical aspect to Eno’s ambient music that’s missing from Black Sea. It’s not just the fact that you can hear Fennesz’s acoustic guitar or imagine him sitting in the space where it was recorded. It’s all of the digital pockmarks and instrumental imperfections combined. Perhaps more than any other Fennesz record, Black Sea exemplifies the kind of ambient music that’s never so seamless that you forget it was made by a human being.

—Brent Burton, Washington City Paper

[More below the jump!]

3. Krallice, Krallice (Profound Lore)

One of the biggest surprises of the year is that Mr. Spazzy Fingers himself, Orthrelm and Ocrilim guitarist Mick Barr, can not only play a riff for longer than, say, a second, but also write some of the most epic and tuneful black metal you’re likely to hear. Along with Wolves in the Throne Room’s 2007 triumph Two Hunters, the self-titled debut from Barr’s new band Krallice suggests that the future of black metal might lie right here in the United States.

—Brent Burton, January 2009 issue of Decibel

4. The Bees Made Honey in the Lion's Skull, Earth (Southern Lord)

Someday [Dylan] Carlson’s post-hiatus music could mean as much to country as Earth 2 means to metal. If that day ever comes, two things are for certain. One, Carlson will by then have moved on to some other mimimalist-informed plateau. And, two, Earth’s latest will be revered as a classic, the sort of record that true believers refer to only cryptically, as if to speak of it in a less-than-exclusive fashion—acronyms, abbreviations, hushed tones—might somehow break the spell. Carlson’s made that record before. Who’s to say he hasn’t done it again?

—Brent Burton, Washington City Paper

5. Litany of Echoes, James Blackshaw (Tompkins Square)

At its best, his sumptuous new album, “Litany of Echoes” (Tompkins Square), conveys a stark and ancient feeling, like something handed down through the ages.

—Nate Chinen, June 22, 2008 New York Times

6. January, Marcin Wasilewski Trio (ECM)

It takes nerve for a young trio to create music of such stillness, such patience. The fact that these three have played together since they were teenagers is audible in the way they trust the epiphanies they collectively come upon. January is an album to keep coming back to, if not for new answers, then for deeper questions.

—Thomas Conrad, September 2008 issue of Jazz Times

7. The Ruiner, Made Out of Babies (The End)

Arriving on the heels of [Julie] Christmas’ stint with Battle of Mice and [Brendan] Tobin’s tours with Red Sparowes, the Brooklyn group’s new disc features uncommonly well-written post-punk. The band has always excelled at Shellacked riffs and Zepped grooves, but on The Ruiner they’ve brought melody to the fore, a songwriting development that allows Christmas to show off her range.

—Brent Burton, October 2008 issue of Revolver

8. Pyramids, Pyramids (Hydra Head)

Perhaps no other debut in recent memory has astonished us as much as that of Denton, TX-based mystery group Pyramids. Bewitched by their exquisite choral arrangements and beatific post-rock whorl, we spent most of the year convinced that the band was comprised of ex-Mare dudes who had moved down from Canada, changed their names and decided to fuck with us (blast beats + choral vocals = amazing) just ‘cause they could. We were wrong, of course, but that doesn’t make Pyramids’ textural ecstasy any less compelling.

—J. Bennett, January 2009 issue of Decibel

9. Assassins: Black Meddle Pt. 1, Nachtmystium (Century Media)

[Nachtmystium frontman Blake] Judd’s giant step—his change you can believe in—is best measured in synthscapes, jazz solos, and songwriting that transforms underground music into mainstream metal. The genius of Assassins has everything to do with the music itself. Judd doesn’t sing about inclusiveness. He just plays it.

—Brent Burton, Washington City Paper

10. Magnificent Fiend, Howlin Rain (American)

Had Bob Dylan sung over these Hammond-drenched grooves, baby boomers would be falling over themselves to call it his best in years. And they’d be right. Dylan, of course, is a better lyricist, but, as an instrumentalist and composer, [Ethan] Miller has tapped into the same mashup spirit that defined Dylan singles like “Subterranean Homesick Blues” and “Like a Rolling Stone.”

—Brent Burton, Washington City Paper

Wednesday night was opening night for Washington National Opera’s production of Handel’s Tamerlano. The Playbill claims that all of the tickets to this baroque opera are sold, but that doesn’t mean that it was a full house. By the beginning of Act Three it was obvious that there had been a sizable exodus—due no doubt to the role of Tamerlano, which was originally performed by an alto castrato and performed last night by countertenor David Daniels (pictured above).

Daniels is impressive in this role, but the high-pitched countertenor sound is odd to modern ears. (I swear I heard some muffled giggles when he was doing his trills in the third act; perhaps some of these folks were remembering Adam Sandler’s Operaman character from Saturday Night Live.) Let’s just say that bass-baritone Andrew Foster-Williams—who plays Leone, the smallest of the opera's six roles—brought some much-needed heft.

Cherkis and I tackled Carneal's first trio of recordings almost a year ago in City Paper ("Griot Grand" and "Interview with Jack Carneal").

Now Carneal's got a fourth Yaala Yaala disc, a self-titled release from Yoro Sidibe, a Malian hunter and musician who is "around 70." The album came out last week.

According to Drag City, the Chicago label that distributes Yaala Yaala, "the grooves are as uplifting as any pep talk could be. They’re low and hypnotic — and after an hour of them shaking and rattling, you too will be loose and ready for what may."

Given that there's no music on Yaala Yaala's MySpace page, we'll just have to take their word for it.

A friend just pointed out this post from Jessica Hopper's blog, in which the blacklist-happy music writer goes after Chicago black-metal band Nachtmystium. The problem? Well, Hopper thinks they're racist and homophobic.

Now, I loved Nachtmystium's last album from 2006, an arty slab of psychedelic metal called Instinct: Decay. But I don't go around doing due diligence on every band I like, so I'd never read any interviews in which frontman Blake Judd uses questionable language, or expresses questionable ideas.

But I decided to Google Nachtmystium and "Zionist conspiracy" and got nothing but Hopper's blog. (Googling "Nachtmystium" and "Zionist" gets you here.) I didn't bother with the f-word, because it seems clear enough that the guy is upset with message board lurkers, not, um, gay people.

Now, I'm not going to condone what Judd said, but, if Hopper's going to call out poor Stephin Merritt for not liking rap, then perhaps she will understand that–as Faulkner once said about the South–some of us like despite, not because of.

Not only does he interview Frederick, MD’s Joe Bussard, a 78 collector who has been the subject of several Washington City Paper features (Eddie Dean’s and Andrew Beaujon’s), but he also makes some worthwhile points about American folk music and its pursuit (whether by collectors or those making field recordings).

Most interesting to me—especially having grown up around adults who, in the ‘70s and ‘80s, were still in the thrall of the fifties folk revival—is how many of those musicians, such as Robert Johnson, who—especially since the ‘60s—has been written about in mythical, almost god-like terms, owe their legend to serendipity.

Bilger writes:

“Fame in folk music can be less a matter of talent than of opportunity, [down-to-Earth folk revivalist Art Rosenbaum] said. People talk about the Delta blues because Charley Patton and Robert Johnson were from Mississippi. But if H.C. Speir hadn’t opened his music store in Jackson we might talk about Georgia Blues instead.”

And then there’s the whole issue of authenticity—finding artists untouched by the modern world. This is like manna for folk-hunters. (When Leadbelly came to New York, Bilger writes, noted folklorist John Lomax “told him to put on prison stripes.”) But Bilger notes that even some of ye olde biggies might not stand up to present-day standards:

“When John Lomax first recorded the blues, the genre was newer than hip-hop is today, and both Leadbelly and Robert Johnson learned songs from records.”

None of this invalidates a good song (and Johnson, especially, wrote quite a few), but it would seem to invalidate the collecting and compiling concept that anything that’s old and, um, folky is worth transferring and cleaning up. Some recordings you’ve never heard of because they just weren’t very good.