“Split” C65 (905 Tapes)

Don’t be a shit. I see you looking at me like that – if you’re wondering why I’m dressed like a killer owl with a third eye, look no further than the cover of this tape, the new Adderall Canyonly/Yves Malone split. Then listen no further than this new tape, front to back. Then look at me again. Pretend like you haven’t been transformed. Pretend like you’ve never heard of Adderall Canyonly or Yves Malone. I dare you. I triple dog dare you. You can’t, because you know why? You’ve been in the presence of greatness. Maybe even in the presence of the Almighty himself. Or at least a minor deity. Probably a minor deity. An owl deity. With a human skull in its talons.

Why so melodramatic, you ask? Because this tape is the bomb-digga-saurus, the tip top of my favorite tapes that have come out this year, or at least in a while. Adderall Canyonly has released a wacky amount of material. Yves Malone has also released a wacky amount of material. Together, they form a synthesizer Voltron of wackiness, and send me into paroxysms of blissful wonderment. Listening to this tape is pure indulgence. Seldom have two such likeminded artists been presented on a split release, and even more seldom have both sides of the split been worth a damn. I believe each side at least warrants that much value.

Adderall Canyonly expands upon his wide-ranging synth soundscapes over four pieces, titled “I” through “IV.” Vangelis and John Carpenter collide with Dieter Moebius (in heaven now) and Klaus Schultze, and by the time you get through his contribution, you’re just freaking loving every second of life you could possibly have. For those in the know, that feeling isn’t an unusual one to get while listening to Adderall Canyonly music – he practically transports you to that plane every single time.  At once bucolic and retrofuturistic, Canyonly’s everything to everybody, and everywhere at once. It’s transcendent.

Then you flip it. Flip that shit, flip it real good. Yves takes all that goodwill and tanks it with “Momes Rath,” a raging minor-key synth clanger that knocks you right out of your state of intense meditative being and into a dark, grotty side street, running from whatever. He doesn’t let up on the midnight vibes, and even manages some great horror soundtrack excursions (“Blackest Ever Was,” “Death’s Lovely Assistant”), to which he is not unfamiliar. And then, check this out – he does a serious Future Islands impersonation (without the Sam Herring part, of course) with the excellent “Til the Eyes Turn Red, Shall the River Bed,” and by the final track, “Last Angeles,” he’s mimicking the incidental detective music from Fletch. (Fun fact: Fletch takes place in Los Angeles, and Fletch himself is a huge Lakers fan.) I can forgive him for busting Adderall’s mood – he kicks all comers to the curb on his side, in his unique way.

So uh – buy this tape. Have you figured that out yet?

And for some reason I’ve decided to dress up like the album cover constantly, and it’s not even that close to Halloween. Who can blame me? Don’t be a jerk about it.

--Ryan Masteller