Here's the last round of blog-run record reviews, as promised. Should be pretty self-explanatory. If anybody wants to send promos please be my guest, it is appreciated and they will be reviewed and published eventually, just not in this space. Trying to get the last issue of PtMiiC off the presses realistically sometime around late Spring/early Summer. That seems far away now but this one will be a bit more involved than our typical amateurish layout. Bigger format which will in turn provide more room for content, contributions from other humans, probably some extra artwork and other "surprises." Than we'll close up shop and focus on other endeavors, which we've more or less been doing all year anyway. In the meantime...
David Arvedon The Best of... (Mighty Mouth)
This is a really weird record, and not in a particular good or listenable way.
AA compares it to the Shaggs, but I disagree. Yes it is primitive, and yes it is fumbling, and yes the lyrics are stupid and bizarre, but Arvedon seems way more self-aware than his female New England counterparts. I think he was just a perv with a weird sense of humor. Before making this record Arvedon played in the relatively well-known 60's Punk unit the Psychopaths, who's "Till the Stroke of Dawn" 45 is also available via MM, and he is in on his own, what I guess you'd call, "jokes". So this is not a Real People record, but I think anyone who considers Konrad's
Evil a landmark achievement in a field not yet understood by humans will find some things to like here. They include: the horn-laden scorch of "Eliot Ness" (the prohibition agent you "just don't fuckin' mess-with") and the low rent Dan Penn musings of "There is No Woman for this Broken Man." Budget Funk track "Yer Garbage Man" is pretty hot too. The do not include: that this shit gets pretty grating after a couple songs. The fact that all the lyrics seemed to be written within the time it took to drive to the studio ("Streaking on the East Coast/Streaking on the West Coast/ My pretty little streaker, she will streak the most"; "The choice is written on the wall/Basketball or you to call"; "Whether your normal or a faggot/All you gotta do is bag it") may be seen as appealing depending on how much time the listener spends playing with his/her own spit. In a time bloated with worthwhile reissues I can think of many other places I'd rather spend my money, but this is certainly not without its merits, slight though they may be.
Bits of Shit Cut Sleeves (Homeless)
Bits 'o Shit: Love the band name, hate the corny obsession with sleeveless jean jackets, and as for the music I'm splitting it somewhere down the middle. That'd be my Byron Coley-sized take on this record, but as I could never say so much in as little words, I'll extrapolate a bit. There's definitely some things to like in here, as the vocalist has a seriously shrill style of verbal vomit, bass tone is perfectly thick and the whole band work through these clunky songs with all the natural bravado of a roving gang of buffoons, or more fittingly "Kids of the Black Hole." Also occasionally hearing guitar torture similar to that of Venom P. Stinger (specifically on "Traps") and Frank Discussion replacing Johnny Moped as front man of his own band-certainly welcome things. I dunno though, for some reason during a lot of the album's playing time I just can't shake the feeling that, regardless of whether they would want to be or not, these guys could be featured on a Tony Hawk video game soundtrack, rather than rolling around in the trash-strewn basements where they belong. When it comes down to it, if you're gonna make frill-less, blistering Punk Rock these days you better be pretty damn good at it, and while BoS certainly don't do it shit-illy (couldn't resist), they also don't give me any reason to prevent more wear to the grooves of my
Manipulerade Mongon boot when the mood for such a sound strikes.
The Bonniwells "Yesterdaisy" (Anti Fade)
Based on the horrible band name and song-titles, Discount-esque artwork and recycled gray vinyl I thought for sure this would be the worst record out of the Anti Fade bunch I got. It's like they were shooting straight for the dollar-bin with the looks of this thing! But then I threw it on and what'dya know? It 'aint that bad. First track has a shambling quality, particularly in the guitar solo, that almost reminds me of the top-tier Punk-inflicted Irish Power Pop of the Undertones/Protex and even fine Welch export the Tunnelrunners. I'm being VERY generous with that assessment though, and when the vocals come in it really kills the mood, setting it up for your typical post-00's Blog Rock zzzfest. I was tempted to knock following "Dum Dum Surf" for being a (fittingly I guess) watered down take on Cramps/Gibson Bros., but I actually kinda like it as I'm typing this shit. We got's a bit of a grower on our hands I 'pose. And when you think about it second rate Cramps isn't such a bad place to be. They really lose me on the B-side though, starting with the tired sounding group vocals of "Farmyard Song" that are unmistakably "of the now." Dig the xylophone playing though. Nice touch, whoever. Closing track blows the worst, total "cool guy" lowest common denominator garbage (I'm sorry, "garage") with the same damn drum beat every band from Brooklyn/Austin/SF has used in every song for like the last 7 years. There's just no ambition in this shit. Music for people who wear sunglasses when they are not needed and regularly have sex with women-LAME! Going on what I've been exposed to I can safely say the "Anti Fade aesthetic" is not for me.
John Cage Cheap Imitation (Mupymup)
I really love Cage's solo piano work,
Sonatas and Interludes... of course being high up on the list of C-Dawg favorites. Much later down the road we have this disc, his last Piano piece written due to arthritis, and a classic of "bearded period Cage". It's got a sort of complex back story that you don't care about but I'll sum up with probably some incorrect details anyway: In 1947 frequent Cage collaborator, dancer Merce Cunningham, choreographed a performance set to the first movement of Erik Satie's
Socrate, for which Cage provided piano. In '68 he decided to expand the performance to include the two other movements from
Socrate and Cage was once again called in, with help from Art Maddox. Performance was set for '70, but before that happens Cage gets word that Satie's copyright handler, Editions Max Eschig, is puttin' a big cock-block on the whole thing. What jerks! To circumvent that problem Cage consults his ole buddy, the mystikal I-Ching, to mix up the pitches but keep the rhythm and structure of the piece the same, so to not interfere with Cunningham's choreography. Bam! Egg to tha face o' Editions Max Eschig! S'what you get fur messin' wit da kid. Cage liked the piece so much that he recorded himself playing it in '76, which he didn't do often, and it came out on Italy's Cramps label the following year. This is a reissue of that recording, and as usual Mupymup's pressing sounds and looks fantastic. Now all we need is a nice repo of the S/T from '74 to set things right. Get on it Mup Mup!
Call Back the Giants "Incidents of Travel" (White Denim)
Huh, was just wandering what Call Back the Giants was up to and here a label in my own backyard goes ahead and releases a new 12" E.P. On "Incidents of Travel" Tim Goss returns sans step daughter to spin yarn over his trademarked broken-electronic stumble. This one's got more vocals than we're used to from CBtG, relaying a kind of dark short fiction work 'bout being lost in the jungle, separated from yr. party. I dunno if this is an attempt to invoke some of what made Lambkin's first solo outing so arresting ("Jungle Blending" get it?), but it's a good place to be. Stuck in the Amazon with Goss as your tour guide, that is. So yeah, at times this verges on straight spoken word, stylistically a step back to that early 'Giants track "Ms. Maris Lopez", though I wouldn't necessarily call it a step in the wrong direction, mind you. While Goss weaves his tale lonely synths belch in a nervous panic, alternating between a fight to keep head above water and a calm resignation of death. Musically, it's got a 'lil Cupol here, a dash 'uh Gunter Shickert there-but every bit's fed through Goss's unmistakably cold electronic grinder. How's he get that damn thing to fire up with temperatures below freezing like this (and in tropical locales no less)? A very welcome release. It may not possess any sultry danse fleur yams a la Dawn Gibby, but I'll take a stroll through the rain forest w/ my favorite keyboard governor over such childish non-sense anytime.
Cheater Slicks Reality is a Grape (Columbus Discount)
That the Cheater Slicks will forever be known as the most innovative band to emerge from the paint-by-numbers 90's Garage Punk scene will always be a mixed blessing. While they have outlasted all their contemporaries who got more accolades than them at the time (or so I hear, I wasn't around, ya know?) and incorporated far more interesting strains of nearly all good straight Rock, it is also kinda like bragging how your toddler was the first to learn how to tie his shoes in Kindergarten. Perhaps its better to think of them as simply (and possibly the last great?) a Rock band who accepted and celebrated its own limitations, while continually throwing rocks at the glass house it called home. Here they return to the formula of their previous two studio albums (excluding '09's
Bats in the Dead Trees, which is more or less live improv., and not particularly good either), a combination of revved-up Hatch-penned uppers 'n' downers, with Tom Shannon's song writing approximating a stroll through a patch of dead flowers, melancholic but beautiful at times.
Yer Last Record and
Walk into the Sea were definite highlights in their catalog, and really felt like a continuation on a very slowly-progressing theme. With this I have to say it feels like the almighty Slicks are treading water a bit, but goddamn if the songs aren't there! Stylistically the opening title cut may not be all that different from the lead off of
WitS's "My Position on Nothingness", but the ridiculously echoed vocals that sound like they got left on the cutting room floor of
Ventures in Space place it in a distinct position among the Slicks well-worn cannon. Plus, I'm pretty sure the song's about trippin' which will never not be good fodder for music. Yeah, there's some lack luster shit, but the high's are high. "Jesus Christ" brings to mind VU in the closet-and not just 'cos of similar song titles-and "Hold Onto Your Soul" is among the most memorable songs these cynical old bastards ever waxed. Perhaps not the most exciting record I've heard all year, but undoubtedly one of the solidest.
Kevin Drumm Relief (Editions Mego)
It's been 10 years since Kevin Drumm released what many still consider to be his finest moment, the landmark in speaker-testing that is
Sheer Hellish Miasma. Aside from bearing quite possibly my favorite album title of the decade, I wouldn't hesitate to call it the best Noise album of the 00's. Drumm has of course kept plenty busy in the meantime, exploring everything from carefully assembled Electro-Acoustic study to group Improvisation to glacial Minimalism. He returns as a solo artist to the Mego Empire in fine form, loud and complex as ever. As I'm sure any dork who reviews this record has or will point out, although it may be titled "relief", from the very moment needle hits groove the listener really doesn't get any. OR DO THEY?! Sure, Drumm's trademark dense wall of feeback is front and center right from the get go, and it's anything but relenting (truly the Phil Spector of the experimental underground), but as Drumm wall rides a riff quickly emerges in the distance; a sort of late night, melancholic blues phrase that lingers spectral-ly in the background. At times this riff gets smothered by the overwhelming weight of the sound mass existing over top of it, and for brief periods it mangages to poke out like a sore thumb in the moon light. I imagine this is the respite the title is referencing, offering the same kind of song-under-pure-cacaphony the likes of Air Conditioning have given us before, without any lessening in cathartic intensity. It is as single minded and enveloping as any of Drumm's considerable work to date and I could listen to it all day, but he gives us about 35 min. before pulling the plug. Interestingly, a brief coda is placed at the very end of the album with a shimmering display of minimal fretboard pyrotechnics. Is this another form of "relief" Drumm is providing? Who fuckin' cares? The record is up there with the best of his immense catalog, and if that means anything to you than I think you know to act accordingly.
Esplendor Geometrico "1980-1981: Prehistoric Sounds" (Geometrik/Munster)
Over the last year or so Esplendor Geometrico have been quietly repressing a lot of their prime 80's material on vanity label Geometrik, which is helpful to saps like me 'cos that shit sure is a pain in the ass to find in the wyld. Now they have compiled a couple early singles and slapped together a very attractive and affordable 7" box-set for the discerning Industrial-Dance consumer. I fuckin' love EG. They really predicted "modern noise dude"'s fascination with dark Techno, not to mention putting all of his half-baked projects to shame in the process. I hate to keep complaining about this shit, but I just can't understand the mindset of anyone who takes Vatican Shadow seriously after hearing
Kosmos Kino, and everything Robert Francisco puts out should contain an essay thanking the band. I think it's fair to consider them a Spanish Sleep Chamber w/ a fetish for architecture rather than bondage, as well. Anyway, this comp. serves as a pretty nice intro to the band, providing a choice smattering of early material at accessible lengths. Things start off pretty hott with "Moscu Esta Helado", a serious "danse floor bangar" if I've ever heard one, and one of the group's "signature trax". Other cuts on the first two E.P.'s are mostly in the hypnotic Acid-House meets raging Post-Punk style of
Mekano Turbo's A-Side, and are fucking great. Three of the four tracks on the last E.P. are unreleased and lean heavy on the more menacing, vocal-less groove-locked loops of releases from much later in the decade, apparently just discovered among old reel-to-reels. CD that accompanies it tacks on some more material in that realm, also featured on the
1980-81 CS-only release from '86. 7" box-sets may be a pretty stupid format, but it does kinda make sense, particularly given the flow of the first two ones in this set, as they'd certainly be great for playing out in the right setting, if so inclined.
Home Blitz "Frozen Tracks" (Mexican Summer)
Everyone knows that Home Blitz has been at the top of the heap for all things vaguely Garage Rock-related many years strong now. What's that-don't agree with me? I'm sorry sir, but you are wrong. Come again-the competition 'aint exactly stiff pickings? Well I can't argue that, but no bother, Dan DiMaggio could hold his own in any era, and it's not a contest anyway. This new 12" E.P.'s got everything we've come to expect from him, and a few surprises as well. The guitar heroics straight out of
#1 Record all the way through the College Rock of the mid-80's it influenced is certainly present. Speaking of which, you'll likely never meet a bigger Scott Miller fan outside of his grandmother than DiMaggio, and here he covers one of Miller's songs, "Rolling with the Moody Girls" off of the final Game Theory studio album
. That one features great back-up vocals provided by Theresa Smith, which brings up another thing you won't find on any prior records bearing the Home Blitz moniker, a full backing band. Living in the Mid-Atlantic, I've been fortunate enough to see Home Blitz with a couple different line ups, and this one's been with him pretty long, so its only natural they get a chance to present their wrecking crew dynamics on wax. They do it in a variety of settings, whether it be energetic Punk rips ("In Every Window"), organ-driven nocturnal ballads with what sounds like a carrot being grated in the background ("Blind Nova"), or down right anthems (the other three songs I haven't mentioned yet). 'Nother fine addition to the HB catalog, no shock there.
[what a terrible person]
Karuna Khyal Alomoni 1985 (Phoenix)
Earlier in the year (or maybe it was last year, I can't keep track of this shit) Phoenix gave the boot to outsider want list staple Brast Burn
Debon, and now they finish up the party with the companion album, Karuna Khyal's sole artifact,
Alomoni 1985. In a time where everyone knows everything about every record ever made, ever, these two mid 70's releases on Japanese Voice Records remain complete mysteries. They have been blogged quite a bit, and everyone always says the same thing: 1.) presumably they are by the same person, though no one seems to know who; 2.) proceedings are more Germanic than Far East, with Can, Guru Guru and Faust being handy sign posts (but don't forget Magical Power Mako); 3.)
Debon is the better album; 4.) I can't remember the last time I showered. Well I'd like to contest Article III at the very least, 'cos after many Swisher Sweets-soaked nights spent wafting in the grooves of both, I think I'd take KK by a hair. Brast Burn is fine and all, but calling it unfocused is like calling reformed Skrewdriver "political." On
Alomoni '85 things just come together a little tighter, and repeat plays reveal a seemingly endless treasure trove of musical secrets. While it's far from expressing any kind of restraint, it replaces the "commune jam" tendencies of BB with the same inherently fuct, Punk b4 Punk spirit that runs through the consciousness of everything from Angus Maclaise to Suicide to Pere Ubu to Chrome. A Japanese Fille Qui Mousse seems to be a fair shake as well (and fitting, they referred to as "French Faust" so often). Two long stretches of perfection that utilize tape work, percussion-less rhythm and whacked vocals, blitzing straight through "crazee Jap-Psych tedium" to the other side of Avant-Valhalla. Side two is more or less one long outtake of "Aumgn", but it actually works! One major issue: Being the worthless crooks they are, Phoenix couldn't even print the huge poster that came with the original in here. But hey, you find a Voice copy and get back to me $300+ later, OK?
Liimanarina Keskenmenobileet (7" EP:t & CP: t 1899-1989) (Bad Vugum/Temmi Kongi/R'r'R Bullshit)
The tile of this comp of expired Finish band Liimanarina's first three singles may be misleading, I think they're having a larf on us. Hard research has led me to uncover that these records were actually recorded btw 1989-92 not the dates written next to the gibberish above. Liimanarina are a band I've been meaning to check out for awhile now, but as with many foreign bands with too many letters in their name I tend to forget about 'em til I get a forceful reminder, which the three labels above graciously provided here. And I'm glad they did, 'cos the majority of this 12" is pretty killer, pretty rickety-ass prime Post-Punk. I don't know what they's (they's being one Finnish bloke and whoever else he could 'round up for a session it appears) going on about, but supposedly some would call this Folk-Punk. Before you go and spit up your liquid lunch all over your Hitler SS and Jezus and the Gospelfuckers records though, that's meant in more of a confrontational Eastern European way ala the majority of Egor Letov fronted units, not smelly Plan-it-X life drop-outs. Weird but still plenty aggressive, with bits of keyboard, annoying fake locked-grooves and generally-terrible fidelity. Woulda been one of the Punker outings of the early Siltbreeze catalog (and supposedly Lax was one of their first U.S. fans). No one track necessarily sticks out per say, but it recalls in equal measure bits 'n' pieces of Icky Boyfriends, scaled-down Homostupids and Ratas Del Vaticano, while obviously pre-dating them all by some time. Very nice to have this all in one place.
Modra The Line for the Men's Room (Savage Quality)
It may be quite a rare occurrence, particularly with new releases (new music sucks/age of the re-ish/bitch/moan, etc.), but sometimes a record just sounds RIGHT. This here Modra debut is one of those fortuitous examples. Like many a fine album, things start off somewhat wound and unravel as they proceed, the more gone they get the better. The singer kinda sounds like a narcoleptic Dave E. and the whole band sputters along in a similar downward fashion to the looser 'Eels moments ("Natural Situation", "As if I Cared" and what have you), or those looong Fushitsusha warm ups, though they end up even further away from "song" than Haino & co. usually do, and without all the stoopid mysticism to boot! Roy Montgomery/X-Pressway/good NZ underground seems to be all over this as well, and the drummer's got those wonderfully "Yeats-ian" anti-rythms down pat. But again, these are just parts that make up a whole very much alive in its own fractured universe, one where stray notes pile up quicker than butts in the ashtray from those who've left the room mid-set for a smoke break. A few years ago this crew woulda went over pretty well in one sadly defunct East Allentown, PA venue that saw its fair share of broken limbs and substance abuse, for those to which that means anything. Man, with these guys, Degreaser, and the dude from Mountain Cult up to something new, current Rock in NYC doesn't seem like such an ostensibly dull proposition for the first time in awhile.
Monoshock Walk to the Fire (SS)
Now here is a reissue that really serves a purpose. While the sounds themselves were quite devastating, the
sound quality of
Walk to the Fire left something to be desired upon its 1996 release date (I know the CD did at least, never heard it on vinyl). Over the years it has become hard enough to find for a fair price that a reissue was warranted, and to top it off remastering could take care of the lackluster audio. Thus, you actually have an improvement made to one of the best records of the '90s. Gee, thanks SSR! I'm no audiophile-obsessed weirdo, but you can really hear it on this, not a single bass drum punch or rooster call left muffled. I can't speak to the album's impact when it originally came out, but I know this has been a fave ever since I heard it a few years back, and the reason is simple: Monoshock did something very few bands of their ilk were able to accomplish, successfully tapping into the holy Hawkwind/
Fun House/repeat-riff vain without making boring, derivative dreck. Psych-Punk is a deceptively complex micro-genre; it is easy to get a bit too nugg'd jamming w/ yr. buds in whatever shit hole basement/warehouse and think your doing something cool, but more often than not such projects end up all style/no substance/much vomit-inducing. As Grady Runyan has continued to show over countless records and bands, he knows how to do this shit right, and
Walk to the Fire is the man's career high point if you ask me. Of course Rubin and Derr were no slouches either, and the unit these guys represented together is not to be fucked with, offering the perfect sense of deft precision when needed, and understanding when its time to loosen things up, strap on the sax and play it while wearing a dog mask. I can't think of a better melding of Garage, Punk and real, honest to Gard Psychedelia post '70s besides maybe High Rise. This record also works as great accompaniment for cardiovascular work-outs, so next time you hit up the elliptical make sure there's a turntable handy.
Charlemagne Palestine Two Electronic Sonorities (Alga Marghen)
Alga Marghen is a frustrating label (they often release very desirable products, though at ridiculously expensive "import" prices that may only feature 15-24 min. total music on them) and Charlemagne Palestine is a frustrating artist (he has some absolutely stunning material but also does shit like this:). Two wrongs may not make a right, but in the case of this record they do make
Two Electronic Sonorities, and quite potent ones at that. Palestine comes swinging right outta the gate, offering up some pretty abrasive stuff for the time (1970). Apparently the sounds are constructed using sine tone generators, the first side being two pieces played on tape from opposite sides of the room. These tapes are (lovingly) fucked with by Palestine for added discomfort, so that each time the listener feels things are starting to drift off into delicate Minimal passages, the harshness of the tones are re-introduced at intensifying levels. If you're trying to listen while going to bed, as I was the first time I put the record on, this will no doubt annoy you to the point of turning it off, but in the right mood it really hits the spot, verging on what I get from a smoking Dockstader rubbin' adhesive tape on a balloon. Second piece focuses on more conventional oscillator frequencies coupled with minimal editing techniques, but is no less effective in transmitting an overwhelming feeling of unease. Sound-wise it consists largely of heavy tone floats, swirling masses and ringing frequencies; more or less what one would expect from the set up. But it's the detail with which Palestine combines these elements that sets it apart. When these types of early sonic explorations are focused they are quite often very rewarding; when not they are usually nothing but obnoxious and soporific. Both sides of this record are planted firmly the former, and I honestly can't think of a truer testament to the quality of the music than being able to ignore the fact that artist looks like what is pictured above. Yeesh.
Pink Reason "Ache for You" b/w "Darken Daze" (Savage Quality)
Kevin Failure, along with a list of collaborators that has to be closing in on triple digits, has been doing Pink Reason for a decade now. Fittingly enough, the 10th anniversary is marked with the resurgence of Failure's Savage Quality imprint, which pressed the first Pink Reason artifacts back when nobody outside of his home state knew of the band, much less would give them the time of day. I have a hell of a lot of respect for Kevin's approach to music. The drive to continue touring regions nobody else bothers going, never playing a song the same way twice, and doing everything 100% DIY is a very rare one these days. I've heard tons of dweebs speak scornfully of the band, probably 'cos they saw them play one show when they were too fucked up to even stand. More often than not these are the same people who champion every new hype band that is completely forgotten within 6 months. Regardless, I think this single would be a pretty good place for all the dissenters to stop in for a re-evaluation. It is def. one of their most together outings, the band (which is supplemented by members of Psychedelic Horseshit, Eat Skull and TV Ghost this time 'round) firing on all cylinders for two gritty covers of obscure WI origin. On "Ache for You" they transplant backwoods Wisconsin songwriting to a desolate So Cal graveyard. Goth but still very tough and Punk, with a killer solo that almost sounds like it was hacked from a Vlad Tepes song. "Darken Daze" is even moodier, with a little twang in its step, Failure approximating Chris D. from the vantage point of Armand Schaubroeck .While I'll always yearn for the totally hopeless, crying into a pile of crank sound of the early singles and first Siltbreeze LP, I'm honestly glad the guy's cheered up a bit, and without loosing any edge. I don't mean to sound like such a knob-slobber, but when the dust settles PR will be something that is actually memorable from the last decade and on, and this single will figure into the puzzle quite nicely.
Polanyi Ongoing Resonance (Self Released)
I went to a Pollyanna at work yesterday but didn't participate, which was kinda awkward, just sitting there with no gift to give or receive. Is "Polanyi" what they call a Pollyanna in kangaroo-land? No, after some grueling research I found out it refers to Karl Polanyi, the bull on the cover of the record, which marks the second solo release from Tasmanian Steven Wright. With a font/color scheme that looks like a fuckin' Hoover record I can honestly say I had no idea what to expect from this one, but when 'ya flip it over and there's a guy sitting at a synth in a large room filled with nothing but pedals, amps and power chords, getting the mind to wander in a Merzbow-type direction, which is more or less accurate. Steve starts it off with a bit of simple ivory ticklin' over a cloudy sound mass and for a second I thought (and hoped) he was gonna go in a kinda Steve Reich direction, but it just keeps getting noise-ier from there, approximating the unrelenting walls of say, The Rita or Sewer Election, sans any implied transgression. At the start of the B-side, with "Muhammad Bassiri" (all the songs are named after notable non-violent political activists, which is a bit too NPR/hand-holdy for me, but a funny juxtaposition to the typical "heavy" imagery historically associated with much of the genre I guess) an organ drone is once again introduced and stays around longer, though this one seems more indebted to the Terry Riley of Reed Streams than Reich. Wright's playing is pretty mechanical and simplistic, and I can't help but think that if a more skilled pianist was at the helm this could be really fantastic, but concept always trumps musicianship in my book and he's got a good one here. Things again continue to get washed out by white noise until an abrupt cut off point is reached and we finish up shop with "Shirin Ebadi", which eventually heats up to near New Blockaders levels of in-the-red intensity. An interesting approach; one foot in beauty and the other in filth. I'm fully aware that my enjoyment of this record is somewhat influenced by the fact that all the people who used to make this kind of stuff have "moved on" to producing feeble attempts at Goth-Techno that no one with any taste for Dance music would consider worthy of an equipment warm-up, but it is a refreshing listen nonetheless.
Southern Comfort "Silver and Gold" b/w "Don't Cry No Tears" (Black Petal)
I spoke rather dismissively of Angela Bermuda's collective oeuvre while discussing Straight Arrows, one of the many other bands she plays in, and while this record doesn't necessarily make me want to recant that statement, I do find it more enjoyable than most of her other work I've heard. Here Bermuda is joined by Circle Pit live member Harriet Hudson, and together they belt out sullen, echoed takes sans bass, drums, or much of anything at all. It's actually kind of an interesting idea, as the lead on the A-side is basically their vocal harmonies, coming off sorta like 14 Iced Bears playing those VU loft demos from before Mo was in the band. Obviously the songwriting is nowhere near as good, but hey, no drums, kinda loft-folk-y, but indebted to Shoegaze and Grunge as well, eat my muff if you don't like the comparison. The B-side is indeed a Neil Young cover, and it is bit lazy and pointless. I wouldn't expect many to be capable of doing the original justice, but Southern Comfort drape the whole thing in so much echo and distortion they turn Neil's teenage laments into something that makes Flying Saucer Attack sound like pre-war Blues. It just kinda comes off like they ran out of ideas after one song, then were scrambling for something to put on the B-side and somebody was like "Hey, I was listening to
Zuma last week and kinda figured out the solo to "Don't Cry No Tears", let's just use that." The project really does seem pretty slight (I mean these chix obviously know people in bands, they couldn't find someone to knock out a steady beat for a couple minutes?), but for some reason on the A-side it works, and I'd be interested hearing how much mileage they could get out of this set up. Throw an organ in there and some Dub effects and you could really have something...
Teen Anal Terrorist Warm Blatz for Teenage Runaways (Savage Quality)
Knowing the label owner's propensity for Digital Hardcore (check out the last PR 7" on Disordered) and with a band name like Teen Anal Terrorist, I was expecting some very Alec Empire-inpired moments at work here (which I would've been fine with). Things are a bit more mannered than that on this mysterious rural WI outfit's debut, but not much so. Even when the unnamed songs hover around reserved tape crackle and submerged beats, they are prodded in a way that is very aggressive and very Punk-minded. Hell, the band, who again is named "Teen Anal Terrorist" and calls their record "Warm Blatz for Teenage Runaways", go so far as to thank cough syrup on the insert, and this LP took like eight years to come out according to the Internet. How could they not be Punks? It's all very broken and chaotic; heavy Industrial-damage that often recalls John Balance toolin' for anus in a bathhouse run by the members of Drexciya. Certainly the underground is rife with these Techno-influenced takes on classic post-Industrial tropes at the moment, and people have been doing it for decades to varying degrees of success I suppose. Teen Anal Terrorist really do manage not to sound like any of them though, possessing a darkness that may theoretically put them in the same arena as M Ax Noi Mach or Haus Arafna, but thematically producing something entirely their own. Scratching an itch I never even knew I had, which is high praise for any new record I come across. Kev's got a damn fine label shaping up with releases like this.
Wicked Lady The Axeman Cometh &
Psychotic Overkill (Guerssen)
Hey, you like the Dark of
Round the Edges fame
, right? Of course you do! Everybody loves that rarest of UK privates (and for once the price tag almost matches the quality). So here's four LPs worth of material that Dark's 2nd guitarist Martin Weaver laid down before joining that revered unit. When it comes to forgotten Heavy Psych bands they don't get much more legendary than Wicked Lady, a trio whose reputation for debauchery and violence rivaled the strength of their tunes. It's amazing that these recordings, reportedly taped to 4 track just so the band didn't forget how to play them live (which I kind of have a hard time believing judging by the decent sound quality) haven't already been issued in their entirety on vinyl before, and a serious service that Guerssen has set this straight. Regardless of the stories that have followed them (which makes them sound like the sickest band ever, and Weaver claims are mostly true in the liners), based on only musical merit these collections are quite essential for fans of obscure Psych sides. Started up in 1968 after being kicked out of a cover band, all the songs were recorded between '69-'72, and they are incredibly nihilistic for the date. Imagine a first wave Black Metal take on Sabbath and Hendrix and this is more of less what it smells like here. Up until the second set,
Psychotic Overkill, which features their latest material with a different bassist, Weaver is the only one with a clue of how to operate his instrument, and it's just full on gtr. damage, going down easy as the wind hawk'd from a joint soaked in sweat, English strong ale and formaldehyde. And yet it never gets old. Proto-Venom, proto-Afflicted Man, shit-in their completely moronic and addictive single minded-ness I'd say it's fair to call 'em proto-Brainbombs. These Spanish fucks sure are charging you an arm and a leg, but give yrself a late X-Mas present. I'm sure drummer "Mad" (as in institutionalized ) Dick Smith would appreciate it.
