some recent actions:|
Feb 15 2012: w/ Cut Hands at North Door in Austin
Mar 31 2012: w/ Justice Yeldam at Bar à Bateau in Antwerp
Apr 05 2012: w/ Drum Eyes at the OCCII in Amsterdam
Oct 26 2012: w/ Crawl at Vinal Edge in Houston
Apr 29 2013: w/ Thrones at Rudyards in Houston
January 31, 2007|
Marauders (Animal Disguise)
by Justin F. Farrar
Village Voice Media
On the surface, Boston's Eloe Omoe sure sounds like all this modern noise the cool kids keep yapping about. Monster drummer Tim Leanse flails about his kit like a tranced-out dervish, melting classic psych-rock grooves into stuttering, percussive splatter. Meanwhile, bassist Sam Rowell rocks hard. With violent hands wrenching strings, she feeds exploded bass lines through numerous effects, warping feedback, static, and distortion into a howling ogre's endless tirade. The result, documented on Marauders, the duo's full-length debut, could be tagged "free metal" or even "freecore."
But underneath the electric squall and hardcore aggression thrives a devotion to the improvising techniques of classic free jazz. Like Coltrane, Archie Shepp, and Sun-Ra (the band is named after one of Ra's musicians, in fact), Eloe Omoe breathes "fire music," '60s-style. Across these six swinging jams, the duo erects wildly fluid sound patterns -- spontaneous and formless, yet physical. Familiar motifs do emerge, and that's because Leanse and Rowell, an intimate partnership on every level, have cultivated a shared musical language while playing together for over 10 years now -- which is the most old-school thing about this pair. In an age of loose-knit collectives and one-off collaborations, these two cling to one another.
Pitchfork Media - Track Review|
Eloe Omoe: "Cambridge MA, Mar004"
Take the progressions-as-progress bullshit elsewhere. Beginning, middle, and end; no, no, and no. No more "starts quiet, gets loud, freaks out, walks off." That one live moment, for those who trade in live moments, has got to be the only one. Bass and drum duo Eloe Omoe are founded on that instant logic. As a force, these two make sense when the instruments hit your ears, and none at all afterward. Call it distillation of sound into spectacle, wrapped together with slithery bass, detuned toms, and broken cymbals. Precursors aren't the point; Harry Pussy history lessons belong in school. Mind monopoly-- that's the live game-- and then maybe commit it to analog reels as overwhelmed as the kids who stood in the front. [4/4 STARS] - Zach Baron