Pitchfork

Though most of us were none the wiser at the time, it turns out that the musicians assembled in 2001 to play on the Tower Recording's Folk Scene comprised a virtual Wu-Tang Clan of subterranean psych-folk. Since the release of that landmark album, the members of the loose-knit troupe have branched out and done their share to expand the sonic parameters of the enlightened American underground.

In the past couple of years, Pat (P.G. Six) Gubler, Samara Lubelski, and Dean Roberts all released noteworthy solo albums, as well as recordings with other various outfits such as Autistic Daughters and Hall of Fame. Tim Barnes has played with Neil Haggerty, made a cameo on Wilco's A Ghost is Born, and operated his adventurous Quakebasket label, among other projects. Perhaps busiest of all has been Matt (MV) Valentine, who presides over the astonishing Child of Microtones CD-R empire through which he's unleashed a deluge of recordings both solo and in duet with Erika (EE) Elder. All of this activity has understandably helped foster curiosity about the work of the full Tower Recordings ensemble, so now Barnes and Valentine have gone back through their old tapes and compiled this new collection of Folk Scene-era material.

A veritable rogues' gallery of instrumental talent, the Tower Recordings of that era were conversant in a remarkable array of progressive folk dialects, and their resulting sound was a motley pastiche of gentle acoustic balladry, the psychedelic exoticisms of the Incredible String Band or Comus, and feral ESP-derived pagan thud. And though it contains many passages of exhilarating beauty, Folk Scene remains an odd record by any measuring stick; its oddity accentuated by short song lengths (most of its 22 tracks are under 2 minutes long) and wild mood shifts that can at times make it a jarring, difficult listen.

This problem has been rectified on Galaxies' Incredible Sensual Transmission Field. (Apparently, the group has been taking album-titling advice from Acid Mothers Temple.) Recorded in a church in upstate New York, the group here sounds loose and live, and the extended running time of these six tracks allows the group to open all of its sails and draw some serious steam. "Harvester" opens the album with a shambling chug, as a mysterious heap of guitar strings and scraping fiddle bows eventually collapses and permits steadfast columns of clackety percussion to carry the day. Though it takes a couple of minutes to get up to full fire, once everybody is onboard this track neatly anticipates avenues that would eventually be explored further by Sunburned Hand of the Man. "Empress of I-91" brings in more jingle bells, handclaps, horns (recorders, maybe?), and a graspable melody, sounding like what the residents of the Wicker Man island may have enjoyed. (Although, unfortunately, Britt Eckland is nowhere to be seen.)

Throughout these songs the only constant is change. Every time a piece risks growing stale through repetition someone in the room introduces a brand new element of sound-- a tinny piano, a distorted harmonica, a taped snatch of drone. And though this technique ensures a continuous succession of surprises, it also means the listener must endure the occasional patch of uninspired chaos as the band patiently pursues the next magical and elusive moment of cohesion. Thankfully, Galaxies' Incredible Blah Blah also succeeds in capturing so many of those moments that you'll likely find yourself hoping there will soon come a time when all of these talented individuals can once again assemble together under one banner.