A student of La Monte Young and Terry Riley's unorthodox school of scathing minimalism, Midwestern noise sculptor C. Spencer Yeh stands at the epicenter of the region's burgeoning noisecore underground. Like most of his noisenik peers, Yeh cut his teeth on a series of limited-edition CDRs and short-run LPs, collaborating with the likes of Thurston Moore, the Sunburned Hand of Man and Deerhoof in a career that is already well over a decade old. Over the past few years he has gained momentum, if not necessarily mainstream acceptance, and his current high standing among middle America's noisy tykes is certainly well deserved. While each of the album's four compositions is built upon layers of mind-melting drone and descending arpeggios, Yeh is careful never to bore his haywire vessels into the ground, adding layers of molten feedback and carefully chosen (if utterly demented) melody lines to weave their way through the debris. "Nyarliathotep" is similar in tone and execution to the works of Matthew Herbert, with millions and millions of miniscule sound bytes coalescing to create a horrifying approximation of a surgeon performing open-heart surgery while eating a turkey pot pie. Though "Benjamin" and "Catapults" were clearly crafted by human hands, they shudder along on decidedly robotic cadences, tossing off unnervingly Coil-esque chunks of frazzled industrial electronics and ice-caked piano lines. The only slight hint of humanity is the scratchy female voice that opens "Come Back Through Me", the album's monumental closer and piece de résistance, but even that is quickly swallowed up by a nuclear blast of sulfur-submerged guitar, and violated synths.
BXC - The Very Heart of the World