Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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24 of 26 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
My boyfriend's Volvo ate my Campfire Headphase, 27 Mar 2007
I lent this CD to my boyfriend and now his car stereo refuses to give it back. So there you have it - even Swedish cars like Boards of Canada.
If you own their previous albums you'll want to get this one too; and if you don't, Campfire Headphase is just as good a place to start as any other. I was renting a CD from the library the other day, and when I told the muso behind the counter that I actually thought Campfire Headphase was better than Music has the Right to Children he acted like I'd just confessed to secret fantasies about having sex with glove puppets or something. I'm not a BoC fanatic, just a fan. Music has the Right is great too, but Campfire Headphase just happens to do it for me on a personal level. It's sweeter and more melodic - music to wake up to, fall asleep to, make love to, even break up to... pretty much everything, in fact, except dance to.
I get to listen to it now and again on car journeys, when my boyfriend's forgotten his iPod, and it's like remembering a really cool dream you had once, where everything was Technicolor or you finally got to snog the boy you fancied, or suddenly realised you could fly... It's not like reality: it's better than that. A few people have mentioned stand-out tracks, and I too like Peacock Tail... and Dayvan Cowboy, Sherbet Head, Tears from the Compound Eye... Oh God, I love them all, really! The only one that doesn't do it for me is Oscar See Through Red Eye, and of course some of the song titles are a bit loony but that's not necessarily a criticism. They make the best covers too; the artwork is outstanding, and predisposes you to like the music before you've even heard it. I'm not really sure what a 'campfire headphase' is... but it kind of describes the buzz I get every time I hear this amazing album. They ought to make it compulsory listening - the world would be a nicer place.
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10 of 11 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A beautiful piece of work, 5 Oct 2006
Boards of Canada are one of those very rare acts that come along once in a while with a sound so polarised, so outside everything else, that they've practically invented a new genre of their own. Think of the influence that the likes of Beefheart, My Bloody Valentine, Brian Eno, The Velvet Underground or Aphex Twin have had on their respective genres, and you start to get an idea of the impact this Scottish duo have had on the electronica scene over the past ten years.
'The Campfire Headphase' surprised fans with the sudden and unexpected use of guitar sounds on this, their third 'proper' album. BOC are well-known for their unmistakable analogue drones and science-programme jingles, which are present here in the gorgeously wonky tracks like '84 Pontiac Dream' and 'Oscar See Through Red Eye', but now the sounds are augmented by squelchy percussion and what sounds like a broken electric guitar with half of its strings missing. In fact the stand-out tracks for this reviewer are two of the most heavily guitar-oriented; The wonderfully lysergic 'Satellite Anthem Icarus' and the epic sci-fi western (as the band put it) 'Dayvan Cowboy', with its shuddering tremolo guitar and thunderous cymbal crashing climax.
The result is a strange new angle on the 'BOC' sound, part introspective synth ambience, and part seventies library music band in a jam session. In fact, the retro element is a key to the focus of this album's intent. Occasionally a poorly-informed reviewer, usually new to Boards of Canada, attempts to criticise their music with remarks about their 'cheesy 70s synth sounds', when in fact this is an unwitting compliment to BOC. As if the band's name, (which derives from the 1970s TV documentaries of the National Film Board of Canada), isn't a big enough clue.
The Campfire Headphase is a beautiful, strange and psychedelic reminder of the emotional potential of instrumental electronica. Recommended.
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8 of 9 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
BoC provides antidote to non-event everyday life, 7 Nov 2005
My first play of this was almost like having the first cigarette hit of the day. Rush down shops, buy Campfire Headphase, get packaging off, GET PACKAGING OFF, inCDplayerinCDplayerinCDplayer, PLAY!, whooosh ... ahhhhh. A new injection of calm from my favourite brand of electronica. Big smile on face yet felt slightly ridiculous at getting this giddy over a CD.Campfire Headphase is a lighter, more organic affair when compared to the electronic icy chill of Music Has The Right To Children or the stark and mechanical Geogaddi. Think Turquoise Hexagon Sun rather than Sixtyten as far as mood goes. More samples and guitars have floated into their sonic landscapes, settling with ease alongside those trademark simple melodies and short interludes that we now know so well. I've already found myself loving the likes of the oh so uplifting Peacock Tail with the rewind button being hit many times to hear those strings kick in just one. more. time. Some may lay the criticism that this isn't drastically pushing on BoC in great strides, but I'm quite happy taking some more of what they do so well, especially when compared to some recent efforts from some of Warp's old guard. Personally, I tend to stay away from reviews, deciding to form my own love and opinion for albums. There is time and place for Music Has The Right To Children, Geogaddi and now Campfire Headphase ... all of which rank equally in my estimation, all for different reasons. I can say, however, that this has replaced Music... as the album I'd recommend to people to introduce them to the world of BoC. Its an easy album to slip into and sit through from beginning to end, more appealing to those who think that IDM is a brand of PC. Of course, once hooked, they can go delve into the wonderful history of albums, EPs and rarities. The comforting bubble of BoC is proving the ideal antidote to crowded 7:45am trains, the bustle of people washed away as I find a corner to hide in with the offkilter world of Neil Gaiman's American Gods. Paracetamol for the soul.
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