Comprised of Thurston Moore, Jim O'Rourke, and Mats Gustafsson, the Diskaholics Anonymous Trio represents the sort of free noise/improv summit meeting that I've unfortunately grown conditioned to approach with skepticism. All too often such alliances come to resemble hastily formed blue-ribbon committees rather than actual bands, with each member loudly pushing his own incompatible agenda or, conversely, so deferential to one another that little of genuine worth ever gets accomplished. And the fact that the Diskaholics each have such a prolific, indiscriminate history of on-the-fly collaborations and makeshift side projects does little to ease my trepidation.
Thankfully, however, these three skilled musicians are no strangers to each other, and their careers have fruitfully intersected on numerous occasions over the years. Saxophonist Gustafsson has worked with O'Rourke at least as far back as Gastr del Sol's 1996 album Upgrade and Afterlife. More recently, of course, O'Rourke has shared time with Moore in Sonic Youth, and they were joined by Gustafsson on 2004's experimental Hidros 3 (To Patti Smith).
This familiarity proved a substantial boon on the Diskaholics' self-titled debut album, released in 2001 on the Japanese label Crazy Wisdom. Featuring O'Rourke on electronics, Moore on guitar, and Gustafsson on a variety of doctored reeds, the album was a measured, surprisingly graceful work of controlled electricity that brought the three musicians' voices into effortless balance. The trio's chief strength lies in its malleability, as both Gustafsson and O'Rourke are rightfully celebrated as much for their cross-textual versatility than for any specific individual sound, while Moore provides the appropriate degree of amp-humping enthusiasm. Effective though the project was, the album appeared to be simply another one-off, seemingly organized around the threesome's joint record-shopping sprees rather than any future collaborative plans.
But that impression changes with the appearance of two ferocious new Diskaholics albums, both of which indicate the trio ought to be considered an active, ongoing concern. Inveterate vinyl hounds that they are, the Diskaholics have clearly organized both of these albums as "sides," with each split into two expansive, equal-length improvisations. Without so much as a drumbeat to light their way, both albums are markedly harsher and more fragmented than the trio's debut, and venture ever further from avant-rock or free jazz orthodoxy.
First up is Weapons of Ass Destruction-- a title so ridiculous the only marvel is that Toby Keith didn't think of it first. Although neither of the album's two halves contains anything as thoughtfully refined as the epic "Totally Gump (Gump Completist)" from their debut, both pieces feature impressive blasts of scaly, creepshow theatrics and scorched earth drones. "Part 1" opens onto an alien mountainscape studded with O'Rourke's mysterious synth swells, but before long Gustafsson comes to the fore, tearing away into the upper registers with a spirited fury reminiscent of free-blowing pioneers like Arthur Jones or Frank Wright. The motion gets more compressed on "Part 2", as all three players elongate their sound into dense, high-action drones. At some moment of spontaneous union, everything coalesces to the extent that it's difficult to determine who exactly is playing what, with Gustafsson's attenuated tones fusing exquisitely and inseparably with Moore's sculpted feedback and O'Rourke's analog thrum.
Recorded in 2002 while on a tour/record hunt in Japan, Live in Japan, Vol. 1 is a considerably scrappier affair. On the first track, "Bent Triangle Pinakotheca", there is an increased emphasis on O'Rourke's granular digital textures, including several piercing, Whitehouse-inspired tones that border closely on the painful. O'Rourke also is credited with mixing the album, and it's left unclear what enhancements he might have added during post-production. Nevertheless, the album's second piece "Unreleased Voice" culminates in an unbelievably concentrated implosion of noise, as the Diskaholics each grind their instruments to their savage limits. Although this prolonged outburst will surely resemble a trough of caviar for true avant-noise gourmets, it's almost guaranteed to clear the premises of anybody expecting to hear pale echoes of Insignificance or Goo. As the "Vol. 1" of this album's title clearly suggests, it appears there could be more such Diskaholics material to come. And based on the evidence of these two brutal, provocative albums, that news shouldn't necessarily come as anything to dread.
