Astor Alcor (Kye)
Yeesh, this Astor "joint" right here, it's a doozey, OK? Compiled from a bunch of questionably extant CDRs, this has got to be one of top schoolings Lambkin's laid on us in a minute. And yeah sure, I'll bite at most anything a label with Kye's track record puts out, but dunnit mean I'ma always swallow it (like, that Bassett/Lubeski collaboration was more 'n' little so/so, if you really want me to name names). Everything 'bout this one just screams "stoned, sneezing out the blue stuff and bawled up in the fetal position 'round 3:30 A.M., alternating crying w/ laughing because you're afraid of the future." In other words, THIS IS THE RECORD FOR YOU! I kid, of course. Certainly one doesn't have to be a socially inept miscreant to get something out of this album, but I'm sure it don't hurt any. All that's really required is an ear for choice sound sculpture, which Astor's got in spades. Proceedings start off oddly pedestrian, our Australian tour guide introducing banal field recording sources like dripping water and a fog horn. This seems to be nothing more than a tactic to throw off the unassuming listener though, as these ubiquitous samples get transformed into dense aural collages approximating the confusion inherent to indenity-less non-states. Those that exist bewteen suburb and metropolis, right before the trip kicks in, etc., is the kinda picture I'm getting at least. Fittingly enough, and I acknowledge that it might just come from label affiliation, but the presence of both Vanessa Rosetto (whose semi-recent LP is on route to my dwellings as I type) and Moniek Darge's work seems to loom fairly large over a substantial portion of this LP. Somehow Alcor seems to be held together by an even thinner thread of sanity than the work the latter two fine artists typically put out, at times cruder but no less beautful. At any rate, the subtle musicality of these pieces becomes increasingly apparent on each subsequent listen. In fact, it's strange to think that these tracks were originally featured on different releases, such is the natural flux of each slowly forming, interweaving piece. Love to hear whatever else is up this lad's pantaloons. "Highest Possible Recommendation"-Ha!
John Cage Shock (EM/Omega Point)
Dismissing John Cage makes about as much sense as dismissing the Beatles. It is simultaneously a pointlessly contrarian position and a fool's game, as with the former you not only miss out some kinda alrite sounds, but his influence on popular culture is so vast you no doubt enjoy many things he's informed, if you enjoy anything worthwhile at all. More so than the Beatz even, I find many of the things Cage influenced to be infintely more enjoyable than his own work, but still make time for him. And hey, speaking of the fab four, Yoko Ono's annoying ass is sprinkled all over this, a collection of John Cage and friends '62 tour of Japan, oringinally released in a three CD set that this takes pieces from, as well as adding a Tudor reading of George Brecht's Incidental Music (so in other words, to own it all you need the CD and Vinyl version. Keen marketing EM, but two LPs of shock is enough for me). This is pretty legendary stuff, all or atleast most of it seeing first release here, and it's presented beatifully with a stunning booklet of photos from the period (shit like Joi Boi wearing glasses with wires poking out of them and making nice w/ a geisha). The sounds are quite agreeable as well. We'll take 'er piece by piece: first is the side long 26'55.988", written for 2 pianists and a string player (and evidently Yoko Ono's whining). It's starts off with a bit of wonderfully jarring atonal piano and long passages of suspended-note violin shrieking. The parts where you can't hear Ono are the best, but on the whole she does little to detract from the power of the piece. Side two begins with Toshi Ichiyangai's Music for Piano #7 as played by himself and Tudor, which is an array of sparse handling of the black 'n whites with crude electronics in the background. Tudor's rendition of Incidental Music is the shortest work of the set and a much-needed come down after the previous two, it providing one result out of the many that present themselves when a piano, wooden blocks, a camera and dried peas are in the same room. Oh the possibilities! Side three is dedicated to 0'00", the follow-up to infamous 4'33", and it was probably more fun to see in person than listen to, as it's simply a highly amplified recording of Cage sitting at a desk with funny glasses on smoking and writing. I imagine it to be perfect fodder for those who call this kind of music boring and pretentious. Luckily we are saved by the incredible take on a Cage/Tudor favorite 'round these parts, "Variations II", that comprises the final side. The sound of amplified piano dominates as massive, harsh washes of sound are interspersed with long and indetermite passages of a tense, brooding calm. Brilliant, aggressive and so far ahead of its time it is almost unbelievable, besides the third side this is very exciting, some might even say "essential", shits.
Dovers S/T (Turn Back)
Here's an obviously bootlegged version of a legitimate 10" release from a few years back from one of the premier lost-to-tyme acts, southern California's Dovers. Why review a bootleg you ask? I'll have to hit you with a "you go" on that one, 'cos this is MY low-traffic music blog and I do what I want here. Fur one, the 10'er been OOP for a good while now, and fur two, the smart feller who pressed this up figured why not just put all four terrific 45's the Dovers recorded during their short tenure on one side of wax? Hell, they fit there, and it'll save 'ya from flipping! Well thanks a ton whoever you are, 'cos there's certainly nothing I like doing less than hauling myself out of the silken hammock I listen to records in. But what really makes this worth metioning is the incredible strength of the material. It takes an awful lot for me to get exited over a retro-Garage act, but from 9/65 'til round about 5/66 the Dovers spit nothin' but hot fyre, and anybody with an interest in varied mid-60's Rock would be a fool not to take note. The track listing is switched around here and does not indicate the order in which the songs were cut, but it does start off with one of my favorites of the lot, down beat folk rocker "About Me." It features a great appropriation of a minor chord Beatles-esque riff with a weird 'ding-sound' to it, kinda recalling the moody down-tempo feel of the Contents Are album or a less precious Fredric. The whole comp. is out of whack chronologically, but with only 9 months under their belt the Dovers always affected a fairly hopeless, if not at times delusional, sensibility, though the confident songwriting jumps from school dance teen sounds to tough Garage to early Psych seamlessly. Songs that attempt a positive outlook just come off awkward, though in an intensely endearing way. Just take this creepy as fuck line from "What am I Gonna Do"-"If you were 17, I'd still feel the same way." It's unclear what lead Tim Granada was getting at with that one, but it makes me wanna take a shower none the less. Then there's the masterful "The Third Eye", an intense Psych-Raga avalanche that some argue predates "Eight Miles High," which it bears quite a bit of resemblance to. In short, the D's smacked together four pefrect 45's in less than a year to complete one of the best runs a local Garage band could hope for, and if you don't got 'em in some format you probably kinda need to change that.
Eastlink S/T CS (Creep Dreams/Little Big Chief)
Australia keeps her obnoxious strangle hold on the American "underground" market tight with this promising demo from members of several other notable outfits, such as Total Control, U.V. Race, Lakes and Straightjacket Nation, originally issued domestically as the debut release on Creep Dreams, with a U.S. release faciliated through LBC. Seeing as these guys have been in literally a million other decent to very good bands it's highly unlikely they're gonna churn out downright dog food, and sure enough this is far from it. The first couple times through I found little sticking to the ribs, however, subsequent play-backs have shown it to be a bit of a grower as 'posed to shower. They've got a good enough sound going for 'em, with a piecrcing three guitar attack and plenty of interesting interplay, and interminttently through tapes run I'm reminded of everything from Country Teasers, Lamps, A-Frames, and the tight lock step of Brix-era Fall to Gun Club, second wave Scientists and X (funnily enough, the L.A. for once). Obviously those are good things, but for some reason about half the time it comes off like a couple cool riffs and recording tricks combined in a way that masks a lack of substantial songwriting. Not to say there aren't more 'n' few hightlights, and I think it's worth it to keep listening 'til you find them. Why on opener "Angel Gun" the singer even got me to agree that "Yes, you're right, I AM an Angel Gun" without even knowing what one is (though if the song title wasn't printed on the inside I'd swear he wuz callin' me an "asian cunt," which, for better or worse I certainly am not). Side A seems to be focused on the more Punk oriented material rather than the Psych/swamp noir of B, which actually works better the majority of the time. These folk surely have their hands full with other endeavors, but hopefully they keep some time set aside for this one, as I'd be interested to hear how they develop it. Limited to 100, probably gone or close to it by now, wah.
Folded Shirt "Tiny Boat" b/w "Mouth Clock" (Fashionable Idiots)
This record came out pretty long ago, but as it's the dying gasp of the all too brief, but impeccably documented, antics of Folded Shirt, I feel the need to honor the occassion with a few words. Folded Shirt were a band so committed to the idea of stupidity, to pure absurdity for the absurd's sake, that they make the other outfits members have or continue to serve time in (Homostupids, OWAB, Mr. California, etc.) look downright academic in comparison. Make no mistake about it though, this is Situationist Rock at it's finest, and I speculate that if Guy Debord were alive today he'd consider himself a fan. But back to the actual contents of the record...as is somewhat of the FS "trademark sound," songs are mainly carried along by a reasonably competent rhythm section while a clean guitar scratches around in its own enviornment (though on the B-side there seems to be more of an effort to play along with the rest of the band) and (what appear to be minimally distorted, possibly doubled up) vocals belt out lines like "He's a big man/in a tiny boat" and "dummy, dummy, dummy/mouth, mouth, mouth clock." Both songs also feature apropos field recordings, the A-side quite naturally that of a body of undulating water, and B-side, in what is possibly a nod to Pink Floyd's hit "Time" off of smash album Dark Side (ov 'da Moon), a ringing alarm clock. Each of the sound clips are followed by sort of an instrumental mini-song, so all in all I'd say you get like 3-3 & 1/2 songs on here, not just two. What a bargain! So that's the songs on the record pretty much. On the back of the sleeve the question pictured above is boldly posed. The line is drawn in the sand and I know which side I'm on. If Culturcide isn't befuddlingly abrasive enough for you, or you find the humor of Sockeye too comprehensible, there's a good chance you might be one too.
The Great Unwashed Clean Out of Our Minds (Exiled)
I've long enjoyed an illegal DL of this album, so it's great to see it re-issued and somebody get money who deserves it. The cleverly named Great Unwashed was the Clean sans Robert Scott after their first break up in 1983. It basically sounds exactly like the Clean material that presaged it, though with maybe a bit more focus on the "Bedroom Pop" side of things, and it's pretty much as good as anything they ever did under the proper moniker. Really that's all you need to know, and since your so fucking smart and have access to the internet I'm sure you already do. But a little more on the music I guess since I've already started writing. First of all, I don't really care for a large majority of the Flying Nun catalog, at least not the "Dundelin Sound" the Clean were very much responsible for popularizing, but that's not a comment on the band's quality, just I get my fill from the excellent anthology double CD on Merge (Oddities 2xLP just released on 540 is sick too tho) and a select few Chills, Bats 'n Verlaines tracks. Of course the choice smattering of releases that didn't fit this style in the infantile days of the label (yr. Rips, Pin Groups, Gordons and what have you), up until they threw Dead C a bone on the first couple albums, are a whole 'nother animal, but why anyone would spend much time scouring every nook/cranny of tepid late 80's/early 90's Indie is beyond me. Eh, whatever. Keep getting off track here. So as hinted at this is full of really great hooks informed ever so slighty by classic British Psychedlia, and if there's anybody I wanna hear take a swipe from Barret's song book and apply it to a bare bones early 80's Pop frame it's the brothers Kilgour. They understand what makes a song work, were at times willing to incorporate more open, experimental tendencies and in '83 they were at the top of their game, with plenty of good ideas left. There's maybe nothing as overtly lysergic and arresting as say "Point that Thing Somewhere Else" or "Fish" here, but they keep things interesting on tracks like "Quickstep," with nice touches like backwards tape tracking. Totally worthwhile reissue and one of the best examples of a style I have relatively little affinity for.
Metz S/T (Ossining)
In terms of truly obscure private LPs that both possess a great mystique AND aren't totally dispensable on a musical level, well, there are fewer left to be uncovered than there used to be. Thankfully, the self titled 1974 effort from Houston's Metz is one such example and this long-delayed gray area pressing ups the number of people who get a chance to hear it by more than a hundred percent, as only two have been found in the wild (one of which was accidentally broken by an associate of Rockadelic's Rich Haupt). As is noted in anything you're gonna read elsewherere regarding the album, it sounds like little else from Texas, possessing a sound much more akin to the early 70's UK Glam scene with a tasteful mix of hip Big City Funk. Cool shit for sure, particularly when considering some of the original touches the band added that make it stand as its own thing, like the sassy-as-fuck female vocals that steal the show on most tracks. Imagine if you replaced the goofy macho back-ups on Left End's Spoiled Rotten with a couple black chicks keen to the ways of tha game and you get a pretty good idea of what we're working with here. It's not perfect by any means, however, as with all but one song clocking in past the 4:00 minute mark and most featuring extended outros, things can get a little samesy quick in a way similar to something like Power of Zeus. Taken into account that this was likely a conscious move in order to make the songs more DJ friendly by offering longer time on the dance floor, however, and it at least makes sense. Indeed, if you plan to play it out nearly any track is sure to be good fodder for a party-type situation (like the lead off, with its chorus posing the question "Do ya wanna party?" f'instance). The lack of information is a bit of a bummer too, but I guess that's more due to the fact that there really is no one around that seems to remember anything of the band, besides the fact that Houston area musician of the time John Melzler had some hand in it, so nothing 'ya can do about that. Plus, how could anyone not get behind a record with a song called "Slap Dat" on it?
Mordecai "Drag Down" b/w "Waste" (Wantage USA)
Another piece to the puzzle unravels with this newish single from Montana's Mordecai, a band whose debut 12 incher really blew me a new one when I heard it late last year. In an age where Rock music, especially that of the vaugely defined "Garage" variety, is by and large stillborn, Mordecai offer a shining example of how to get things done with class and dignity still firmly intact. There's no carbon copy throwbacks to any era on this or previous discs thus far, just a focused distillation of whatever root it is that gives all the best Midwest Art-Rock its intuitive and unassuming weirdness. Real salt of the Earth type shit; zero pretension but a natural "otherness" that could likely come from the unchecked psychological abuse of older siblings (two of 'em are bros fittingly enough, both born at seperate Dead shows), being called "faggot" by public school knuckle draggers and a sophisticated realization of the generally harsh landscape one's got to deal with from an early age on. The A-side, "Drag Down", starts with a nice bit of feedback before giving way to drums that sound like a Scott Asheton practice take, a worldview similar to Bowie's as filtered through Todd Tamanend Clark, and a buzz 'n chug that's all their own. Admirable stuff. "Waste" is what they're calling the B-side, but I find it to be far less a waste of time than many other efforts I've heard in passing as of late. It's got a bit more swagger than the flip, slowly revealing itself like John Cale underneath his trench coat circa Sabotage/Live. Not sure there's a whole lot more I could ask from a single, lest it were to grow dainty, yet powerful, hands and give my rug-a-tug. Despite my hopes that don't seem to be happening, but I'd still rate this one of the better sevens that's crossed my plate in 2012.
Mountain Cult S/T (Little Big Chief)
Although I thoroughly enjoyed the debut self-released Mountain Cult 7" E.P., I thought they might fair a little better on the long playing format (Really, I'm not making that up! Just look down a couple posts). Their brand of marble-mouthed, slumping failure Rock just seemed more suited for extended grooves, 'ya know? Luckily, I didn't have to wait all that long to find out, as Little Big Chief chose their first foray into non-Austrailian-related music to be the band's debut 12 incher. After plunking this thing down I sure was surprised at just how right I was though-the LP is seriously leaps ahead of the already pretty good single from last year! The whole current is just so utterly devoid of dynamics and life it's like the band channeled the very state of what I imagine a brief wake up from nodding out feels like. And look, I don't wanna make any presumptions about someone I never met, nor am I some fuckin' toddler who thinks bands who do drugs are k3wl, nor do I even give a single fuck about "authenticity" in my art, but damn-if the guy "singing" these words doesn't have a thing or two in common with Phil Anselmo besides playing in a sick band he sure is a fine actor. It's funny too, being that so much of the problem in regard to making memorable song-based music these days lies largely in many band's dedication to obscure vocals and lyrics ('cos they don't got nothing to say?), instead of treating them like another fundamental instrument, that the arrant mumbling comprising Mountain Cult's vocal dept. can be so charming. I think it's due much in the fact that as everyone knows Rock is beyond dead, and this band seems to celebrate the notion rather than fight it. Their songs don't just sound deconstructed, but totally decayed from the start. The references that jump to mind don't hurt either, mainly a bass throb that sounds more like the synth on those early Suicide demo's during the extended A-side closer " All Eyes on Her" or the jolt given when flipping the record over for an even more shambolic take on "Ferryboat Bill," complete with Legendary Guitar Amp Tapes fidelity in "Overachiever." Or the overall feel of a dingier Art Phag/Cramps played at 16 RPMs. My gripe about artwork remains though-whoever the band's letting put their sleeves together is asleep at the wheel. Other than that, top notch muff. If my description sounds like it might be up your alley then forget about trimming up that neck beard and head on over to http://littlebigchief.bigcartel.com/. It beats leaving the house any day.
New Dawn There's a New Dawn (Jackpot)
New Dawn were a short lived, all-things-Armageddon-obsessed rural Oregon unit who played up and down the West Coast starting in '67 or so, and whose sole private release from 1970 has gained quite a bit of notoriety in predictable circles, serving as something of a benchmark for gloomy, introspective Xian Psych. It's a record that, much like the best of local one-off privates, emanates a very distinct and weird atmosphere, even if the songs themselves aren't particularly strange. Throughout its course a defeated, downtrodden current is never far from the surface, even on tracks that are relatively upbeat in tempo, like "Dark Thoughts." Conversely, songs with a supposedly uplifting message, such as "Proud Man", have a tasteful wave of world-weary cynicism to them that educes a tangible sense of maturity. Essentially this is teen-beat for adults, a sort of grown up answer to more ambitious Midwestern Garage combos like Mystery Meat or the Bachs, complete with eery lyrics and vibe but with an overall tightened/cleaned up approach to musicianship and accompanying recording quality. Rainy day favorites Neon Pearl sprang to mind after none too many spins as well. I was originally a bit thrown off by the laid back good time feel of the eponymous opening track (which repeat plays have revealed to be a fine cut) as I've been curious 'bout this record for a while but never actually heard it, and everything I've read led me to believe this was a serious downer of an LP, but that song is not representative of the entire record, which showcases a mix of understated songwriting interspersed with sick organ breaks and killer fuzz amid the perpetually dreary, longing semblance. It is also to the band's credit that, again much like the Bachs/Meat Shitz, they were able to offer 12 originals of varying styles that manage to come together as a cohesive whole. I can't really pinpoint why, but the packaging of Jackpot's releases have always seemed kinda tacky to me. Gotta hand it to 'em with this one though, first time a vinyl reissue (there have been quite a few boots and Jackpot put out an authorized CD version in '09 w/ some bonus tracks) has been sourced from the master in the 40+ years since its release and both sounds and looks great. A record that's worth its considerable praise in collector circ-jerks as well as a shit ton of repeated flips.
Repulse "Habershon Ways" (Cameleon)
This here's a definte artefact that would have slipped right on by me unknowningly had it not been given a proper re-evaluation via new French label Cameleon, so a tip of tha hat's certainly in order for that. Just as Soggy were sort of an early, dumbed down French response to the Stooges or the Dogs to Flamin' Groovies, a heady basement take on VU/Modern Lovers prevails on this forgotten groups sole 1982 extended play. In other words, a heavily French accented Screamin' Mee Mees is what we can consider it to be. References to Rob Jo Star Band are also bound to be made given the country of origin and retro feel, but this is way less weird. Opener "Sweeties" features buckets of fuzz on the guitar, ridiculous bass playing way out front and an over-confident sneer that betrays the musician's lack of skill, lending itself to comparisons with earlier American group Neutral Spirits squarely. "Saturday Night Gig" follows and is the good-timey sock hop tune that perhaps Jonathan Richman should have listened to before recording all those cartoonish albums where his name precedes that of the band on the cover. B-side is pretty cool as well, featuring two more tracks at 33 RPM that follow in a similarly ramshackle path as fellow countryman Dandelion, though nothing that pipes quite so hard as the first track. Certainly one can't help but notice the derivative nature of this stuff, and delineating it two 2nd, even 3rd tier status isn't necessarily unfair. Still, it functions well as an out-of-place document, paying homage to a highly romanticized period from a vantage point that is itself a distant memory by now. If that sounds like too much of a qualification for enjoyment than by all means pass it up, your life will surely not be dramitacally altered one way or the other. But really, there's always room for more 2nd rate Velvets, so long as they aint from present-day Brooklyn (and thus completes my requirement for both uninspired writing and a NYC-music jab all in one review)!
Shitlickers 1982 (Noise Not Music)
The Shitlickers were one of those groups so menacing and self-destructive sounding it seems, nothing to say of logical, that the only possible environs for them to profligate in was some filthy squat covered with malt liquor forties and empty gas cans in the early 80's, for just long enough to record one blistering 7" and then implode. If we are to (I believe correctly) suppose Discharge to be the European equivalent of Black Flag in terms of scope of influence, it's safe to say that Shitlickers were on par with your Urban Waste's, Deep Wound's or Koro's as far as taking that prime influence's speed/anger to the breaking point. Their sole single has been reish'd/bootlegged ad-nauseum by this point, but what really makes this one special is the B-side containing unheard (to me atleast) material of impeccable quality. Just one listen to the absurd dying cat sound that abrasively cuts through the middle of "Night of the Holocaust" is all the enticement a fan of noise, as opposed to music (the philosophical position, not record label), could possibly need for purchase. There's really not much more I can write that the band didn't say better, so in place of a conclusion to this review I leave a verbaitim transcription of the entire lyric sheet, in order to highlight the depth of insight these Punx had into topics of interest circa '82:
"Warsystem"
Warsystem. Warsystem. Warsystem. Now
"Armed Revolution"
No system works. Armed Revolution. Fuck 'em all. Fuckin' shit.
"Sprakta Snutskallar"
Kor upp batongen i analen
Kor upp batongen i analen
Sprackta, sprackta, sprackta snutskallar
"The Leader (of the Fuckin' Assholes)"
Who tell the cunts to do what they do?
The leader of the fuckin' assholes.
"Silence"
Fear. Fear. Desperation. Silence.
"Desperate Scream from the Heat"
Fire. Fire. Desperate scream from the heat.
"The Night of the Holocaust"
The night. The night of the holocaust.
"No System Works"
No system works. Oh yeah.
No. No system works.
Witch We Intend to Cause Havoc Boxset (Now or Again)
First off, this massive 6 LP box of all the early to mid 70's output from Zambian Garage/Psych/Funk hero's Witch (whose name is an acronymn for the very title of this set) has gotta earn the best bang per buck margain I've come across in years. The selling price for this thing is seriously less than the two titles in it Shadocks released, the quality is high and the sound, while I certainly don't have no originals with which to spot-check, serves the heavy as fuck grooves well. And look folks, I don't claim to be a scholar on Afro-Rock, but if there's a better or more consistent example than the five album run captured in this box (not to mention the album's worth of non-LP singles included) I've yet to hear it. Which is entirely possible. Africa's a big place, and I hear a lot of music's come out of it. But back to the materials in question; the first two LP's, Introducing and In the Past, besides being connected by cover art which appears to come from the same photo-session, share a heavy Stones infatuation, though replacing Blues influence for the type of rhythms that just seem to come natural to this lot (see the latter's "Mushed Potatoe" for evidence). It's great shit, with endearing touches like an actual introduction to the entire band on the former's reasonably-titled opening "Introduction" (which the band stresses is in English on the sleeve), but the third record, Lazy Bones, is where they really hit their stride, a consummate masterpiece of loose, dark and pulsating Psych-Fuck that illustrates the term as well as any in a sub-sub-genre rife with profit driven dealer hype-turned let downs. It's also one of the rarest records to come from the continent, and supposing one had the insane luck of actually finding an OG, it'd likely be thrashed, if history is any indication. Right from the mournful opening chords of "Black Tears" it exudes the harsh realities of life on a poverty stricken, sun bleached plot of Earth. One could probably write a disertation on the socio-cultural implications of a song like "Motherless Child"-how the group incorporates Western song forms to tell a tale the West is very much responsible for, but I'll just say it smokes as hard as anything Damon ever laid to wax and leave 'er at that. The follow ups, Lukombo Vibes and Including Janet (Hit Single) [what a fuckin' title] lacked the immediacy and presence of their predecessor, but are fine works of increasingly Funk oriented damaged Ethnic sounds, having more in common with traditional Zambrock and electric Miles than the appropriated English R & B of the early records, though still very enticing to fans of bent World Music on the whole. Comes with nearly faithful repo's of the amazing original sleeve/label art and thick booklet I've yet to really dig into. You will seriously never own any of these records in original form and this set's a steal if I've every seen one.
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