Жанр: Alternative-Folk Производитель диска: USA Аудио кодек: MP3 Тип рипа: tracks Битрейт аудио: 320 Kbps Продолжительность: 3 часа 3 минуты 8 секунд
Castanets - Cathedral Жанр: Down-Folk, Avant-Country Год выпуска диска: 2004 Производитель диска: USA Аудио кодек: MP3 Тип рипа: tracks Битрейт аудио: 320 Kbps Продолжительность: 33:26 1 Cathedral 2 (Your Feet On The Floor Sounding Like The Rain) 2 Just To Break Free From A Hundred Families 3 Industry And Snow 4 You Are The Blood 5 No Light To Be Found (Fare Thee Faith, The Path Is Yours) 6 Three Days, Four Nights 7 As You Do 8 Cathedral 3 (Make Us New) 9 The Smallest Bones 10 We Are The Wreckage 11 Cathedral 4 (The Unbreaking Branch And Song) Cover art by Jason Munn
#777Cathedral is the debut release by a unique new voice of avant-country, San Diego's Castanets. Backed by the haunting, angelic voice of newcomer Bridgit DeCook, and recorded mostly in a secluded cabin in the northern California woodlands, Cathedral illuminates the dark architecture where faith and doubt clash in an often-ambiguous search for the divine.
Centered around singer/songwriter Raymond Raposa, Castanets create downbeat folk music that manages rich texture despite its simple and sparse instrumentation, much like Asthmatic Kitty's flagship Sufjan Stevens. While not as overtly Christian as Stevens, Raposa is interested in matters of faith. He works in a poetic, almost folkloric manner that only touches on the stories behind the texts (he reportedly has plans to flesh out the ideas some day in book format). Castanets wisely avoid the morose, gloomy quality that has come to be associated with much of the San Diego indie rock scene, opting instead for a pysch-folk overtone, with Elephant 6-style noise-college flourishes - Raposa calls it "derailed pysch-country." He does enlist members of many of San Diego's trademark bands - Pinback, Black Heart Procession, Rocket from the Crypt – so it’s apparent Raposa is well thought of in his hometown. The droning organ that rings throughout opener "Cathedral 2 (Your Feet on the Floor Sounding like Rain)" immediately calls to mind the dirge-heavy Black Heart Procession, but Raposa filters it through reverb, recontextualizing it with a sacred, pristine quality (no doubt aided by the album's title and lyrical imagery). Label mate Liz Janes and Bridgit Decook provide haunting background vocals to Raposa's sometimes lackluster delivery. At his best, Raposa manages an early Leonard Cohen-style vocal timidity, effective on the album's quieter songs, such as the stark "No Light to be Found." The cohesive mood of Cathedral is surprising considering the fluctuating instrumentation. There is an “everything-but-kitchen-sink” aesthetic at work: horns, bells, a saw, unidentifiable bits feedback, etc. “Industry and Snow” moves from an acoustic lull into an all-out rock-and-roll tantrum, the album’s fastest and loudest moment. The quick shifting tempos, and the diverse instrumentation in general, sound surprisingly at peace with each other, perhaps because Raposa keeps everything bathed in an earthy, organic light. This is why the drum machine on finale "Cathedral 4 (The Unbreaking Branch and Song)" seems out of place at first. It stops as quickly as it started, though, making for a surprising exclamation mark on Raposa's final words of wisdom, There is no path in our flight. That he is able to mediate a wide range of collaborators each playing a wide range of instruments speaks to the depth of Raposa’s vision. His development is definitely something to watch. For now, Cathedral is another welcome installment in the folk renaissance. By Jon Pitt
More proof that Weird America is thriving comes from Castanets' Asthmatic Kitty debut, Cathedral, an album that earns its title through its expansive sound and spiritual searching. Raymond Raposa's apocalyptic version of Americana -- which he calls "derailed psychedelic country" -- borrows from the traditions of country and folk but never sounds traditional, thanks to unusual arrangements that feature toy pianos, woozy brass, dulcimers, and clanking, arrythmic percussion alongside the more expected acoustic guitars, harmonicas, and pedal steel. The album's sound is indeed psychedelic, but in a spare, haunting way that lets the spaces in the music speak as much, if not more, than the music itself. Cathedral's songs tend bleed and blur into each other, adding to the album's half-remembered, fever-dream feel, but when moments like the feedback-laden porch jamboree "Industry and Snow" and the beautifully ghostly "You Are the Blood" arrive, they stand out all the more. There's a certain dark theatricality to the album's sound, particularly on its centerpiece tracks, "No Light to Be Found (Fare Thee Faith, the Path Is Yours)" (a breakup song that could be about the end of a relationship or a lapse in belief) and "Three Days, Four Nights." However, Cathedral sounds less contrived, and more immediately inviting, than the brooding of likeminded artists such as Will Oldham's many incarnations. Raposa's searching sounds genuine, particularly when he sings of "just waiting to be lifted up" and "the way we refuse to be saved." It's particularly effective, and affecting, on "The Smallest Bones" and "We Are the Wreckage," where he addresses God directly, but even relatively lighter songs like the gorgeous ballad "As You Do" and the brief, drum machine-driven closing track, "Cathedral 4 (The Unbreaking Branch and Song)," reveal a nearly constant questioning of faith. Though Raposa doesn't necessarily find many answers on Cathedral, his exploration of belief -- and the lack thereof -- is captivating. Heather Phares
Cathedral, the first nationally released album by San Diego’s Castanets, introduces a unique new voice in avant-country. The core of the Castanets is the lyrical and musical talent of Raymond Raposa. From somber love ballads to haunted tales of frustrated redemption, the delivery is potent and devoid of cliché or sentimentalism. Echoes of The Velvet Underground, No Neck Blues Band and delta blues harness a strain of ancient Americana that even today pulses through a subdivided and paved landscape; the result is what Raposa calls "derailed country psychedelia." Backed by the enchanting angelic voice of newcomer Bridgit DeCook and recorded mostly in a secluded cabin in the northern California woodlands, Cathedral illuminates architecture where faith and doubt clash in an often-ambiguous search for the divine. Castanets will spirit you off to other plains of deconstructionist country rock existence.
Step into the Cathedral of the Castanets and you will be ushered into an album that is coherent, beautiful, and well-crafted. Within the context of this album, one enters into the grand cathedrals of Raymond Raposa. Those cathedrals, if I am correct, are four in number. The first houses the entire album in all its complexity and simplicity (yes, contradiction in terms, but it seems to work here). The other three "cathedrals" ear-mark the disc at it's beginning, ending and after its mid-point. Housed at the center of the disc is the track, which clocks in as the longest on the disc: "No Light to be Found (Fare Thee Faith, The Path is Yours)." This brings weight to the center of the disc since it is a pivotal track, as I will mention below. Although boiling down an artist's work into comparisons never really gives one a true feel for what the artist is doing, I feel the need to give some indication of the sound to my readers. Castanets remind me of a hybrid of a few great artists: Sufjan Stevens (A Sun Came era), Deerhoof, mixed with alt-country and the stylings of Frank Lenz (Last Temptation style). Enough of the broader sense of the disc, lets get down to particular songs. Cathedral opens with "Cathedral 2." It's a slow-tempo song with droning sax, sparse drums and sprinkles of acoustic guitar. There are female and male vocals and various sounds mixed in for good measure. Raposa is a master of imagery and that is apparent from the very first track. Water runs throughout "Cathedral 2" and gives the listener a sense, not only of it's ability to envelope us, but also its depth, movement and sound. The picture painted is puddles growing to lakes and rivers building at the bottom of the steps. The last line of the song leads into what follows on the album: "It's all right to want something more than this." "Industry and Snow" starts out with acoustic guitar and what sounds like a child's xylophone. It has a subtle alt-country feel and eventually becomes louder with looped feedback with odd guitar sounds and a mixture of other noise. "You Are the Blood" is an upbeat song in its message. This has imagery in it that is possibly of a redemptive nature. The song itself begins with distorted horn and fades into simple drums and dreamy guitar. Vocally, the song reminds me of Frank Lenz' work on The Last Temptation.... "No Light Be Found (Fare Thee Faith, The Path is Yours)," is the longest track on the disc and occurs centrally, changing a bit of the tone of the disc until the end. Reminding me of Gary Murray's work on LN, the vocals are quiet with a very light acoustic accompaniment. This is a very honest song about faith, love and friendship that is melancholy in tone and looks forward to later songs that speak toward redemption. Because the lyrics of this song seem so pivotal to the album, I find they are worth quoting. I got something that my baby wants She's got something that I want too Baby and I are through I've been down to the bottom with a bad, bad man Down to the bottom baby with a bad, bad man Lay me down with her gentle hand He said this darkness, it was untrue That there was no light to be found in you But I know Darl'n that's not true I had a dream so dark that I could not tell But that's just as well But I don't know babe just where you've been But I've hung myself heavy here Babe, I don't know where the hell I am I thought that man, babe, he might have something that I need But he had no anger for you or for me Babe, I swear that man didn't even know the sea And some of these friends of mine, I miss them so Good Lord, these sweat friends of mine, how I miss them so But some of these others are driving me around on some cold, dark, and strange and deathly road Bring me down to your river, I want to see how it runs Down to your river darl'n, I wanna know just how it runs That man waits on the path, but I know for good I'm done I've got a feeling that that man, he's just begun This song is followed by "As You Do," which seems to reference the relationship mentioned in "No Light" by proclaiming "I wish you loved me as you did." "No Light" feels so connected with this song that the album seems to flow right together at this point. Although "No Light" is a bit depressing, "As You Do" seems to end on a lighter note with the line "the closer we get, the lighter it sense/the louder it gets." Why this feels upbeat to me, I'm not quite sure, but the music seems to contribute to some of that. Following "As You Do" is the track entitled "Cathedral 3." This ushers the listener into another section of the disc that centers both on redemption and the relationship that seems to be involved with the woman mentioned in prior sections of the cd. "The Smallest Bones" paint great imagery about our limited existence and our waiting for our meeting with the Eternal One. Raposa croons, "My God / it's an eternity waiting for thee / there's a cancer / in the smallest bones / in the smallest breeze / and our houses have not grown their wings." I find that Raposa paints great, simple imagery that is subtle and beautiful in his lyrical content. He ends the song with "And my Lord / It's an eternity / waiting for thee." "We Are the Wreckage" is the second to the last song that really ties up many of the themes on the disc. Female vocals make another appearance on this track and the relationship between Raposa and his ladylove makes another appearance. It seems that the relationship has never been made perfect, yet there are bright signs at the end of the song with organ and perhaps xylophone accompanying the singers. Hope is communicated at the end of this song, which leads the listener to the last of the cathedrals: "Cathedral 4". It seems that, as the new Cathedral is entered, the singer has resolved much of what he has encountered with the "bad man" and has come to terms with his relationships both with his lady friend and God. This song starts out simple and moves into a more poppy style song. It certainly shows that the melancholiness of "No Light" has been left behind and hope is now on the horizon. On first listen, I didn't expect much from Castanets. Once I truly listened though, I was drawn into the story it tells and was taken to all the Cathedrals Raposa wished to usher me through. This disc is a true journey through hope, despair, and renewed vigor in life. I say "yay" for the Castanets and encourage all to listen for themselves. sylantroadie "www.somewherecold.com" (Fort Worth, TX USA), January 7, 2006
"Cathedral" is one of the best new albums by any group I've listened to in probably a couple of years. And I'm not affiliated with this group in any way -- I just read about the album, bought it, and haven't stopped listening to it! Nearly every song is great. If you like Neutral Milk Hotel and other hard-to-classify groups like NMH, I guarantee you will love this album. It's haunting and beautiful and I will stop gushing before you stop believing me... Andy French "Crotchety Music Fan" (Mission Hill), December 22, 2004
I was suprised that many of the reviews here were not as good as I might have expected. Personally, I am continually intrigued by their very unique sound-- something like a cross between Devendre Banhardt and The Swans; it's a gloomier, soft-spoken indie-folk with meaningful lyrics and a heavy orchestration. It isn't something that'd go over well at parties, but perfect if you're in the mood to sit and listen. I'd recommend it to fans of the aforementioned Banhardt, Vetiver, et al. and esp. those interested in experimental stuff. Anyway, I highly recommend this as one of my favorites of '04. Joseph A Kauzlarich (Seattle, WA United States), January 28, 2005
Castanets - First Light's Freeze #777Жанр: Alternative Country Год выпуска диска: 2005 Производитель диска: USA Аудио кодек: MP3 Тип рипа: tracks Битрейт аудио: 320 Kbps Продолжительность: 33:31 1 (The Waves Are Rolling Beneath Your Skin) 2 Into The Night 3 A Song Is Not The Song Of The World 4 Good Friend, Yr Hunger 5 (We Drew Uncertain Breath) 6 Bells Aloud 7 First Light's Freeze 8 Evidence (A Mask Of Horizon, Distortion Of Form) 9 No Voice Was Raised 10 (Migration Concentric) 11 All That I Know To Have Changed In You 12 Dancing With Someone (Privilege Of Everything) 13 Reflecting In The Angles
Castanets - In The Vines #777Жанр: Freak-Folk Год выпуска диска: 2007 Производитель диска: USA Аудио кодек: MP3 Тип рипа: tracks Битрейт аудио: 320 Kbps Продолжительность: 37:54 1 Rain Will Come 2 This Is The Early Game 3 Westbound, Blue 4 Strong Animal 5 Sway 6 The Fields Crack 7 Three Months Paid 8 The Night Is When You Can Not See 9 Sounded Like a Train, Wasn't a Train 10 And The Swimming Cover art by Jason Munn
THE STORY Ray Raposa of Castanets had almost finished his follow-up to First Light's Freeze (2005) when three men in strange masks mugged him at gunpoint in front of his home in Bedstuy, Brooklyn. Stealing Raposa's rent money, iPod and security, the three thieves climaxed a year of depression and nomadic, nocturnal dislocation. Not long after the mugging, Raposa completed In The Vines. If the Castanets' debut, Cathedral (2004) was a road narrative and First Light's Freeze a malaise of longing, In The Vines is an attempt to reconcile the fear of the spaces between the journeys. Says Raposa, "There is a definite rootlessness. Not so much pursuit as just waking up somewhere else, then somewhere else again. I have had to halt production and/or writing and/or thinking about this album repeatedly due to actual, incapacitating depressions. Totally crippling. The bad kind. Off of the road, it's been a pretty bad year." Appropriately, the album he was struggling to complete is based on a Hindu fable about being trapped in an inescapable fate, with death and the limitations of our physical lives closing in from all corners. The story is half of the inspiration for In The Vines. The other half is the wandering that's typified most of Raposa's life. From years on the road faking Greyhound passes, to moving to the Virgin Islands as a parentless teenaged professional surfer, to keeping tabs on expatriate journalist parents (father residing in Saudi Arabia and mother in Mexico), Raposa's life has been one of back seats and rest stops. In the fable story, "The Well of Life", a giant net stretched out by a giant woman surrounds a Brahman lost in the forest. The frantic Brahman runs in circles attempting to escape until he falls halfway down a pit and is entangled in vines. He discovers some bee hives halfway between the flesh-hungry six-faced elephant at the top of the pit and the waiting serpent at the bottom. As bees buzz around the Brahman and rats gnaw at the vines holding him up, all he can do is gorge on the sweet honey. Heavy stuff, yes, but it isn't all peril, and darkness. The songs are sung with such intimacy and earnestness that In The Vines "sways" somewhere between the serpent, elephant, bees and rats, the honey representing a strange sense of hope and delight in the brief moments of beauty that sustain our lives. THE SOUND There is community within the music of Castanets, one that keeps Raposa safe and sane while dangling in the pit. In this instance we have near-shipwreck-mate Jana Hunter, Nonhorse (Vanishing Voice), Rafter Roberts, Nathan Delffs (Shaky Hands), Viking Moses, and Matthew Houck (Phosphorescent). Recently the live Castanets' community has included such folks as good friend and labelmate Sufjan Stevens, Nick Delffs (Shaky Hands), Rob Lowe (Lichens) and Annie Clark (St. Vincent). This ever shifting cast makes it is necessary to drop preconceived notions about "bands" and "singer-songwriters" when approaching the Castanets. Castanets is always a "we," no matter if Raposa plays alone or with dozens. This collaborative effort spawns a paradoxical sound indebted to both AM Gold and the idiosyncratic fringes of music theory. He mines both to reveal treasures. The template may be country music, but the collective energy conjures up elements of noise, free jazz, black metal and electronic abstractions. "Following up a Kitty Wells cassette in the van with a Brotzmann disc or a Lichens disc or Hot 97” says Raposa. The album is a snapshot of an extended period of intense work, devoid of live audience but blessed by the detritus of players, city, country, ghost audiences, and improvisations of water, smoke and night. Raposa is the curator of his own art, seeking out potential collaborations to infuse the situation with multiple colors, subdue his ego-rule, and unearth the song's own personality. Raposa plays music with folks as an extension of enjoying and eating the honey.
While Ray Raposa wants his Castanets project to be recognised more as a band than an outlet for a singer-songwriter’s musings, there’s no doubt that the most remarkable imprint upon In The Vines is left by its central protagonist, rather than any of the contributing few, including Brendan Massei and Sufjan Stevens. This is an album weighed down by singular emotions, manifested by an individual in the wake of misfortune. The story: Raposa was mugged between the recording of this third LP and its 2005 predecessor, First Light’s Freeze. The incident affected him greatly: following a year of depression and a work-by-night attitude, Raposa was already in A Bad Place prior to the theft of his rent money, iPod and more. It’s far from a surprise, then, that In The Vines, conceptually semi-based on the inability to escape one’s fate, is morose from the outset. Opener ‘Rain Will Come’ sets a particular tone early on; divergences are few, but welcomed. The shimmer of ‘Strong Animal’ is distracting for its fullness following a few tracks of sparse arrangements and whispered vocals; it’s still a song seeped in melancholy, but its pounding percussion gives it an edge over the album’s less-developed pieces. There’s a semblance of celebration about ‘The Night Is When You Can Not See’, too – it’s departure, escape, successful avoidance of whatever fate presented itself at the beginning of In The Vines. Far from a linear experience though it is, Castanets’ third album nevertheless possesses a ‘journey’ quality – obstacles are overcome, and redemption attained. It’s no laugh-a-minute ride, but there’s a beauty in Raposa’s misery that’ll appeal to acolytes of Will Oldham and his aforementioned collaborators alike.
Castanets - City Of Refuge #777Жанр: Noise-Folk, Minimalistic Folk Год выпуска диска: 2008 Производитель диска: USA Аудио кодек: MP3 Тип рипа: tracks Битрейт аудио: 320 kbps Продолжительность: 39:45 1 Celestial Shore 2 High Plain 1 3 The Destroyer 4 Prettiest Chain 5 Refuge 1 6 The Quiet 7 Glory B 8 High Plain 3 9 I'll Fly Away 10 The Hum 11 Savage 12 Shadow Valley 13 High Plain 2 14 Refuge 2 15 After The Fall Cover art by Gala Bent
The result of three weeks alone in a Nevada desert motel room, City of Refuge, Castanets’ fourth full-length for Asthmatic Kitty (September, 2008), blazed into Ray Raposa's mind with the rising sun. The idea came the morning after an overnight drive with tour companions from Oakland, CA, to Las Vegas, NV; waking in the back seat to a Nevada gas station dawn, Raposa said "here," and as the drive progressed, so did his conviction that this was where he would record the next Castanets album. He sought and found solitude in a mom and pop motel in Overton Nevada- unincorporated, two bars, no stoplight, home of The Lost City Museum - on the edge of Valley of Fire State Park (Moapa Valley to the indigenous peoples), an hour northeast of the surreal derangement of Vegas. Far from distractions and infused with the sense of isolation explored by the songs he'd written for the album, it proved the optimal backdrop. Minimal overdubs by friends Jana Hunter, Sufjan Stevens, Dawn Smithson (Jessamine, Sunn O))))), Scott Tuma (Souled American, Boxhead Ensemble), and co-producer Ero Gray were added later, but the silence of the sparsely populated region underscores the sounds of Raposa's voice and instruments. City, is many things, but amenable to a simple, generic description it’s not. Over the course of three albums and myriad EPs, Ray Raposa and cohorts have made a career of crawling out on tenuous limbs, but to the amazement of the crowd below, never falling off. To extend this hackneyed metaphor even further, they’ve been known to release their grip, sprout paper wings, and soar into the horizon through floating musical notation. With an uneasy, asymmetric weave of sung songs, chants, electronic noise solos and spaghetti-western guitar interludes, City suggests a film soundtrack, with overture, mood-setting and plot-development songs, intermission (please remain seated, and ignore the guards at the exits), character studies, and themes of resolution and reconciliation. Ok, we’ve slogged into the muck of yet another tired metaphor, and there’s no way out but forward, so what the hell kind of movie is this anyway? Possibly a nocturnal, black and white contemporary desert western with characters real and imaginary, a failing motel on a little-used old highway, gas-well flares flickering far off in the night, the spirit-body of Lee Van Cleef watching from the shadows, a sliding eidetic road seen with closed eyes, the disturbing memory of an encounter that may or may not have been a dream, fallen bare wires crackling somewhere in the desert, the mingled odors of sagebrush smoke, candle wax, warm beer, and an overheated amplifier, and the howls of coyotes (or, perhaps, your brain). A narrative propelled by yearning, passion, dislocation, ambiguity, regret, false redemption, possible true redemption, cryptic symbolism and other art film obligatories, this time you’re liable to sit numb and silent through the credits as the theater empties (though you don't have to- the guards have disappeared). The difference between Raposa's landscape and more familiar backlot scenes might be this; you believe what you've heard and seen because your third ear intuits that he didn’t contrive any of it. City, then, is no longer only music, but emotional catharsis, and we, too, long for a City of Refuge.
Castanets - Texas Rose, The Thaw And The Beasts #777Жанр: Alternative Country Год выпуска диска: 2009 Производитель диска: USA Аудио кодек: MP3 Тип рипа: tracks Битрейт аудио: 320 kbps Продолжительность: 38:33 1 Rose 2 On Beginning 3 My Heart 4 Worn From The Fight (With Fireworks) 5 No Trouble 6 Thaw And The Beasts 7 We Kept Our Kitchen Clean And Our Dreaming Quiet 8 Down The Line, Love 9 Lucky Old Moon 10 Ignorance Is Blues 11 Dance, Dance
Everybody's got stories and histories and back-stories but when the lights go out and The Crazy goes down, what good'll they do you? What we need is courage, sanctity, and some love (carnal, secret, even troubled.) We need Son House or Charley Patton, nothin' but clapping hands, and hoarse voice telling us about Gawwwd, the Devil, that WOMAN. We need beats smashing outta the back end of a Cadillac in some back-end-town. And we get alla that with a Castanets record. Let's count 'em on our fingers; let's do roll call… Come 2004 there was Cathedral with country guitars and electronics that shook the bar-tops of San Diego, Brooklyn, and parts unknown. The order of the day was the strata of noise on noise, drones and dry-air crackles. First Light's Freeze was a dream of ice and piles of river rock and sticks and stones. Here we had American music from the old tradition, but witnessed in 2005, solidly, with no eye for nostalgia. This was the war-time fright, the big New Century chill. 2007 was In The Vines, and suddenly we were there in the backseat while the wind blew crazy through the car and drowned out everything but your own damn thoughts. ("Put your body, 'cross my body and sway, sway, sway" went the radio when we pulled over to take a leak.) It was lusts and swimming and a soaring ahhhwww of lap steel. There was blues dug outta the bilge of a shrimp trawler in the gulf and there was fireplace smoke and CMT country hits as heard sitting cross-legged on the bottom of the pool—deep end—while, topside, the barbeque goes on happily without you. (And when you look up through the blue warble of chorine water you can see the dimming sun hovering like burning seagull above you.) And don't forget, we're counting here. We're making a list so we can remember, or maybe so we don't have to remember. What's really important, anyway? All those hours you waste; how much of that is living? City of Refuge is the new record and it's a piece of authentic out-there-where-it-all-is living. There's stories and histories and back-stories; this one's got one. Let's just say: cars on highways like Conrad's boat up dry sand rivers thru heart of coyote darkness with nothing but cactus and glass squares and triangles from busted bottles pushed into the desert floor like green and brown windows into the Earth. City of Refuge, written and recorded solo in a motel, middle of nowheretown, where guitars're bold and distorted and sound like howling animals or pieces of rusted car doors strung with piano wire. Instrumental interludes are static sighs and coded transmissions from satellites twinkling over Barstow or someplace. (You ever heard a sound as lonesome as wind and nothing else?) And then we've got cleansing earth-joy on "I'll Fly Away." And then we've got love, sweat, and sex in "Glory B." Everything that came before is remade like Eve from Adam's side. Everything is like "whatever man, this's me now." This is 15 pieces of barren parking lots, butterfly knives, hot air, rumbling amps, warm beer, STILLNESS, and—somewhere, far off in that empty bar you wish you lived in—the jukebox is playing the most golden of high-plains country. Only, there's a flashflood coming; only, there's a methed-out posse fixing to make some fool PAY; only, the power's gone out, and we all gotta scramble around and look for a candle and—sffffhssss goes the match—and we see ours faces all orange-lit and smiling while the thunder booms down by the interstate. City of Refuge is Castanets. Castanets is Raymond Byron Magic Raposa.
"I hate white people fucking with hip-hop. That’s not my place." Despite frequently including other musicians, Castanets is essentially one man: Ray Raposa. The recordings, the concerts, and the music itself all come from his current interpretation of his own ideas. I spoke to Ray over the phone right before the release of City of Refuge (TMT Review). We talked about what that album signals for the direction of Castanets, as well as his thoughts on live performance and on his other new album (which is already recorded). During our conversation, Raposa was lost in Rhode Island, sitting in a coffee shop and wondering where he was going to go next. ---- Your album’s coming out Tuesday. Are you doing anything special to commemorate it? No, not at all. This album was done a year ago, so I can’t even begin to relate to who I was when I recorded it, let alone get excited enough to do something significant regarding its release. Is that a strange feeling, being detached from something that is old to you but new for everyone hearing it for the first time? No, it’s fine. It’s a matter of taking responsibility for what I’ve made. It’s not a turning point or anything significant. It’s just something that happened a little while ago. You recorded it in a motel, which doesn’t seem like the most ideal recording situation. What was that like? I wouldn’t describe it as not being ideal. It was in the middle of nowhere in Nevada, so there was nothing going on outside. It really couldn’t have been more low-key. The records before were in places where I had a lot of friends — San Diego being one example — so it was easy for me to get distracted or for things to get out of hand. Being in a motel was perfect – I didn’t know anyone; I didn’t want to call anyone; I couldn’t go meet with anyone. It was just me. I was grateful for it. How long are you in Rhode Island for? No idea. A day, a week, I hope. I don’t remember why I came. We’ll say a week. Then will you go back to New York? For a little bit, and then back out on tour with Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson. A lot of people are writing about him these days. He has at least one song that’s an absolute motherfucker, probably more, but there’s definitely one that’s just unbelievable. So that tour starts in a couple weeks, then to Europe, and back out here again. It’s pretty busy, but that’s to my advantage – I get restless otherwise. I end up in places like Providence, with no goddamn idea what I’m doing here, barefoot in the rain, asking people for maps and trying to find the coffee shop my friend works at. Turns out this is the wrong one. Your tours often incorporate several other musicians. Will you be bringing many people with you on this one? I think this tour’s going to be a four-piece. I like having people on tour with me because it frees things up – I know what songs would sound like if it were just me playing them, but that’s not exciting for me or for anyone to know exactly how they’re going to sound night after night. When I have folks with me, especially when they’re smart thinkers, I feel like it adds a capacity for expansion. That’s something important to me. Increasingly, I feel like bands these days are very well-rehearsed, doing their thing the same way night after night, and that works for them. I have a certain admiration for that, but I can’t envision wanting to pursue it. I would feel like a con artist. I think it’s a matter of being honest with the songs. There’s a big difference between playing DC on a Tuesday and Brooklyn on a Friday, and I would feel like I was cheating people if I did it the same way both times. That’s my issue and not anyone else’s, but it’s important. Personally, I do get disappointed when I leave a show feeling like I could have just sat at home and listened to the record and gotten the same thing. Is that what you’re trying to avoid? Yes, definitely. I wish that more musicians were on that wavelength for shows. That’s the difference I want to make, to avoid sounding like that. Did you have many other people playing on this record with you? There are people on it, but it’s a much more solitary record than the others. By nature of the circumstances – I was alone in a hotel in Nevada – it was done mostly by myself. I sent things out to Jana [Hunter] and Sufjan [Stevens] for them to use in their parts, but it doesn’t sound like a band record or anything. It was just a function of the fact that I couldn’t exactly fly everyone out to where I was. This is as far as I’m interested in pushing my music in that direction. The record coming out next is already done, and it sounds very rock ‘n’ roll in a good-time kind of way. So it will have a much bigger sound? Certainly, the next one and probably the next couple of records. I like loud guitars and big beats. I want to represent that in some fashion. That’s what I listen to, and I really like hip-hop and rock ‘n’ roll and metal. None of that is one dude in a room; there’s a lot of interaction. At the end of the day, that’s what captivates me, so it’s a natural progression and not a conscious pursuit. But at the same time I’ve been vigilant, bordering on militant, about not letting my listening habits get in the way of making records. When I’m recording, I don’t allow myself to listen to music because I’m very wary of subconsciously being influenced by it. I can tell you it would be really bad if hip-hop showed up somewhere in Castanets. I hate white people fucking with hip-hop. That’s not my place. Also, I’m pretty sure Larry Clark just walked by. And if that’s not him, it’s the deadest ringer you’ll ever see. by Elzee, October 2008
Quit Your Day Job: Castanets Unless you were born with one of those silver spoons, you likely work a day job, sneaking time for your own business when not taking care of someone else's. You're not alone. Every week, Brandon Stosuy finds out how our favorite indie artists make ends meet... A couple of weeks ago I ran into Raymond Raposa, a.k.a. Castanets, at Spuyten Duyvil, a beer and wine bar in Brooklyn. Always on the lookout for musicians with day jobs, I asked him a bit about his work history over some dark stouts, and found out he'd been a bona fide surf instructor before entering the more prosaic waters of record store clerking. In honor of this post-Memorial Day Quit Your Day Job, I thought it made sense to talk with Raposa about dropping in and hanging ten even if at this point he's only, well, California dreaming. Adding some storm clouds to this idyllic beach scene, Asthmatic Kitty passed along a very non-summertime track "Into The Night" from the equally winterized First Light's Freeze. No worries: the break from humidity's well balanced by the California-emblazoned sailboat shirt and Big Kahuna beaded necklace Raposa's sporting in the accompanying image. Currently looking for a new job (while wearing a beard that rivals Oldham's) he's at work on Castanets third album, due out this fall on AK. STEREOGUM: How'd you get work as a surf instructor? RAYMOND RAPOSA:I was living in Mission Beach, San Diego in a temperate haze. Days bleeding into days like nothing. Ambling about barefoot and easy. It's a nice enough neighborhood if you tune certain elements out. House was half a block from the beach; sandbars were generally pretty solid out front. I had a bunny. One of the guys a few houses down started a surf-instructing school with private winter lessons, and full-on camp style in the summer. Pretty much rounded up every free time surfer in the neighborhood (there were many) worth their salt and put 'em to work. STEREOGUM: What was your rabbit's name? What happened to him or her? RR:A girl I was living with for a while had a professor who was going through a bad breakup in which neither partner could bear to maintain custody of their rabbit. She took him and we built a little chicken-wire enclosure around our patio for it. We never put him out there. He was a total house bunny. Fahey Kirkwood. I'd take him for walks up to the sand a lot. He was really into knocking over stacks of cassettes and licking peoples noses. In the inevitable and arduous split between girl/me we went joint custody with him. I kept him for about a year, he moved to Golden Hill with her afterwards. It's been about four years since I last saw Fahey and I can only assume now that he has gone the way of all bunnies. STEREOGUM: What were you tuning out of the neighborhood? RR:Just general upwardly mobile Southern California stuff. The specter of the OC. The MTV Spring Break house being a couple blocks down from my house. The X Games being a block past that. When I was growing up in Mission Beach before moving away and back, it was a really weird environment. Pretty well localized. Lots of pride in itself. Those kinds of places are pretty much impossible to find out there anymore. By the time I was living there in my teens it was well on it's way to being any other well-to-do beach town. Edge lost. STEREOGUM: And what was the camp's name? RR:The camp was called Surfari. I kind of have a rule about puns in general especially in the context of a business and triply in the context of an employer, but pick your battles, right? STEREOGUM: Did you enjoy teaching? RR:I've worked quite a few jobs but this was satisfying like no other. Success rate for a two-hour lesson and session was pretty much 100% and folks're pretty stoked after that. Vibes was right. In the summer time I would wake up sometimes with a fair enough hangover and hustle down with a cup of coffee in some mood or another, but on the second of hitting water with a couple dozen amped kids, all was right. Camp would wrap up at 1:00 so I had plenty of time after to work on songs. Started writing the first Castanets album around this time. The winter more than the summer I guess. A couple years of this work got me pretty far on the easiest of schedules with the rewardingest days and the worst of sunburns. It could be said that thing went downhill for a little while after that but that's something else. STEREOGUM: How old were the students, on average? RR:The kids in the camp were about 5 to 15, all in one group. Average was probably 7 to 12. Lots of yelling. Lots of dodge ball. The private lessons were all ages and ended up being usually about half adults. They were a little bit heavier and a little less flexible so those ended up being the more challenging hours. STEREOGUM: How long have you been surfing? RR:I was in the ocean young. I was surfing competitively up and down the coast from maybe 11 through 17. STEREOGUM: Ever plan to go pro? RR:Sponsors, photo shoots, etc ... I had kind of a little freak out about taking that part of my life in that direction and ended up moving to the Virgin Islands for a little while in a bit of a panic. Came back a few months later and didn't talk to any of my sponsors and didn't do another contest. It was a close call. I can still pick up surf magazines in Borders or 7-11 or whatever and pull the old man trick of "I used to beat that kid all the time. He ain't shit." No one listens. STEREOGUM: If we listen closely to a Castanets record will we discover any surfing references/references to these experiences? RR:Doubtful. Maybe a little, little bit on this next one, but there are parts of your life and then there are other parts of your life I guess. I don't think the songs would serve it very well. There's little in it to work out. It's perfected itself. STEREOGUM: Jana Hunter mentioned to me that sometime when you play, you stand on one leg. Is that surf related? RR:Ha. I hadn't thought of that. Maybe a balance thing. A need to be re-centered. You can only play so many shows on two legs before you start to feel that there could be something else out there for you. STEREOGUM: Do you enjoy surf rock? RR:No. STEREOGUM: I've heard you love the show LOST. Are you drawn to the show's proximity to water? RR:Haha. Probably a water thing there yeah. I get super wistful with the beach scenes to the point of occasionally missing dialogue. STEREOGUM: When did you stop the surf instructing? RR:Kind of tapered off when I moved down to Ocean Beach. STEREOGUM: Did you work anywhere afterwards? RR:I worked at a coffee shop for a bit before leaving San Diego entirely, and then a record store/cafe here in Brooklyn. STEREOGUM: Where in Brooklyn? RR:Sound Fix on Bedford. Regular record store stuff. Getting bummed out on independent music. Talking people out of buying things. Worked there for a year and a half or so but it was getting to be kind of a chore for everyone to re-do schedules after every tour. Asi es la vida transeúnte. I am without money entirely now and will take anything any of your readers can offer me. STEREOGUM: Now that you're a New Yorker, when summer hits do you get surf nostalgic? Ever try to surf the East River? RR:I've been able to surf Nassau county out here a couple times. Beaches up there. I still kind of worry about spoiling spots so I'll just say it was terrible every time. Don't go. May 30, 2007
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