Disquiet

In advance of its recent release, the album May 23rd 2007 (that’s its title) by the Kallikak Family (aka skilled studio concocter Andrew Peterson) was represented by a single MP3, just under three minutes of eerie sound design titled “Second Phase” (MP3). It begins with a thick amalgam that suggests a subterranean train station, as it mixes slowly moving industrial noise, overheard human voices, and tones that could be some sort of background music; after a short while the noise retreats and the voices and tones meld into one sinuous whole, along the lines of early, elegant Mouse on Mars.

Subsequently, the label that released May 23rd 2007, Tell-All Records, posted a second full MP3, the title cut (MP3), with some advice: “it’s best listened to in conjunction with our other free download, ‘second phase.’ download them both and listen in order.” This new track employs what could be heard as an opposing tactic to “Second Phase,” moving from soft and inchoate to loud and rambunctious. It’s raspier, and considerably more chaotic, than “Second Phase,” with snatches of processed machine percussion and sung vocals, quoting familiar objects from dance music but only as elements in a flanging, abstract, forward-moving mosaic. The title cut precedes “Second Phase” on the album, and thus emphasizes the quietude of the latter.

Peterson’s Kallikak project takes its name, presumably, from the study by American psychologist Henry H. Goddard, whose research into inherited mental deficiencies is cited as an early American eugenics text. Kallikak’s previous album, Vineland Social Maturity Scale (States Rights), was named for another artifact of 20th-century social-science research. The name “Kallikak,” which Goddard made up to provide anonymity for the studied family, is probably a better choice for a moniker on Peterson’s part than another word reportedly coined by Goddard: “moron.” For more information, visit the label’s website, tellallrecords.com.

It’s the first of the month, which means, among other things, the automated mailbots of many email lists send out little reminders that you once upon a time submitted your email address to their discretionary use — such as the one from johnnyvidacovich.com, website of the great, lanky, Zen-focused New Orleans drummer. Email arrived this morning from another New Orleans act, the group Chef Menteur, named for a highway that leads east out of New Orleans. The email wasn’t automated; it brought welcome news that the band’s members were far from New Orleans themselves, beyond the reach of Hurricane Katrina, dispersed across the country.

I first saw Chef Menteur play when it was a duo, Jim Yonkus and Alec Vance, two gear-enabled noodlers making psychedelic noise. Chef Menteur has since expanded, and its first proper album, We Await Silent Tristero’s Empire, arrived earlier this year on the Backporch Revolution label. Now a quintet, including Bryan Killingsworth, Chris Sule and Mike Mayfield, they still make studio-enabled psychedelia, but its richer, thicker and more self-assured, as evidenced for the downloading public by four full MP3s on the band’s website, chefmenteur.org. There’s Fourth World folk music, laced with sitar, on “Paysans de la Mer” (MP3), and a slowly grooving retro-campy vamp, “Pointu” (MP3), that suggests the ghost of Ernie K-Doe was nearby during its recording. The longest of the batch, “Europa” (MP3), escalates suddenly toward its end, capping the extended opaque ambience with voluminous dissonance, before a final fade. Perhaps the best track, “W.A.S.T.E.” (MP3), maintains a slow, lo-fi beat and affixes to it all manner of sampled and performed material, hand claps, plucking, field recordings, yelps and more. Additional info at backporchrevolution.com. … And now go visit the Red Cross, and help clean up after Katrina: redcross.org.