Look, more record reviews! Just what you're looking for while you whittle away at your miserable work day, contemplating whether or not to pick up a gun on your way home to swallow. But how can you listen to all this wonderful music when your dead, huh? This time around we got releases from all over the world (or at least America, mainland Europe and Ass-tralia). So, for all the international citizens out there, this chud's for you.
Blues Control Valley Tangents (Drag City)
![]()
We'll start our record reviewing journey in a place rather close to home, at least for me, as I'm pretty sure the "valley" in
Valley Tangents refers to the Lehigh Valley, an area I resided in from years 0-18 of my life. And just what are these "tangents" anyhoo? Why they comprise the new album by one of America’s consistently best bands for over six years now, the nomadic instrumental duo of Lea Cho & Russ Waterhouse. It is common knowledge that since operating under their current moniker Blues Control have been carefully building a catalog unmatched in the area of modern experimental Rock, isolated far away from their trend hopping peers in the noise/synth/cheese scene they sometimes get lumped in with. And the primary thing separating them from their baby food eating associates (besides taste, talent, class etc.) is that they actually write songs. They have kind of a Dome-like sensibility in taking cold electronic sounds and blending them with natural acoustics to create an extremely dense and, ah fuckit, let's say "organic" ambiance. If '09's
Local Flavor was BC's Ethnic record, than this, as many others have suggested, is their Jazz Fusion piece, and I don't wanna sound unoriginal here, but
Valley Tangents makes plenty of sense jammed in between something like Demon Fuzz and
Brown Rice, so if the shoe fits...Appropriately named "Love is a Rondo" sets the bar high right off the bat, both Waterhouse and Cho soloing around a main theme in dominant fashion, with additional live percussion provided by Tatsuya Nakatani. If the soaring dynamics of high energy cut "Iron Pigs" sound 'anthemic' or 'stadium-inducing' to you, it's likely no surprise, as I again assume the title's a regional nod, this time to the mascot of Allentown, PA's AAA baseball team. What really stands out on this album in particular is the skilled ivory ticklin' of Cho. It was always one of my favorite features of the band, but whereas previous efforts might have been centered around Waterhouse's guitar backed by understated keyboard riffs, Cho's playing is way out front on much of this. And look, I don't know dick about the mechanics of keys (despite having to hear my roommate Dirty D practice for hours on end. Motivated, that guy is), but by the time closing "Gypsum" fades out if you told me this was some long-lost side project between two members of Miles's electric band or Herbie Hancock's cousins or something, I'd be none the wiser. But that's just me and my brain is small. If you don't have ten pounds of shit packed into your ears than pick this up fast. And if you do go see a medical practitioner immediately to have this unsanitary ailment taken care of, then buy the record if you got any cash left over.
Henning Christiansen Kreuzmusik FLUXID BEHANDLUNG Op 189 (Kye/Penultimate Press)
I was recently relieving myself in the restroom of a local Philadelphia diy "art gallery" establishment; it's the sort of place frequented by the late 20's/early 30's dreamer types with little economic means and generally sub-par hygiene. You catch my drift, I’m sure. So I'm in there urinating and I look up on the defaced wall and see somebody scribbled the words "Fluxus is Cool" in pen. I finish my utilization of the facilities for their text book purposes without vandalizing the place, like any upstanding citizen would, and as I'm leaving think, "While the lad and/or lass who wrote the above statement may likely be wrong with a lot life decisions they've made and opinions they purport, I gotta say they were on the money with that one." Henning Christiansen, as a few clicks of the mouse has led me to ascertain, was one of the prime Fluxus artists of the original movement, colluding with a long list of weirdo's since the mid-60's from his Danish base. The majority of his work was collaborative and multidisciplinary in nature, as he was openly disdainful of isolated approaches to creative outings, conventions across different mediums and accepted artistic institutional practices. This is a recording originally laid to tape in 1989, based on a performance with Joseph Beuys in 1967 at a 10 hour ritual involving a rampart of margarine, primal dancing and Christiansen's sound work, and all transferred and re-mastered just last year by Jason Lescalleet at Glistening Labs (confusing, isn't it?). There are a few themes/motifs that Christiansen works with here, including using a fat-fiddle to elicit images of sheep/feelings of serenity and a composition about "hammering against the war monkeys". It begins with a sort of opening vocal loop of the word "fluxid" then gives way to what I believe is Henning throwing rocks into a bucket of water. Kind of like a less deranged Otto Muhel record. This is followed by sparse passages of echoed hammering (no war monkey's injured), which enters into seriously tranquil
Soliloquy for Lilith territories. I won't give away the B-side 'cos I have faith you can figure it out yourself. On the whole, an engaging listen that begs repeat plays, but I imagine it would've been a hell of a thing to see in person, 'ya know? Of course, one could always throw it on while paging through label owner Graham Lambkin's new art book
Millows, also recently released via Mark Harwood's Penultimate Press, to achieve a similarly gratifying audio/visual experience. Your head just might finally explode. Huzzah!
Girls Girls Girls Borsch (Little Big Chief)
Since 2005, in the form of releasing various home spun/hand assembled CDrs and cassettes, and for a few years before that in various other musical ventures, Matt Earle, along with a lengthy list of collaborators, has been quietly building a vast discography of unwaveringly disjointed sounds, much of which is available from his own Breakdance the Dawn label. The patience and dedication required to sift through these endless streams of CDrs and tapes are simply qualities I don't have, but lucky for lazy assholes like me classy VA label/mail order LBC has presented two creamers of the considerable crop with this release and the Xwave platter reviewed below. On Borsch, originally released as a C90 before Earle's tape deck broke (or is it after he got a new one?), Brisbane’s premier Motley Crue-band name derived outfit deliver their first vinyl offering. Matt is backed here by Adam Park on bass and Rohan Holiday on guitar, both of whom have also been in a million incestuous bands heading this beyond-primitive wing of current OZ Out-Rock. Under the Girl's handle they present some fairly dark, dwindling stuff, and throughout the four instrumental tracks I'm routinely picturing the backing band of Distorted Levels jammin' in a dingy warehouse on the outskirts of the same sunless Michigan town the Index once called home (specifically the last jaw-dropping title track on here), with the fidelity and attitude similar to a grip of weathered Swell Maps demos. Lofty praise I know, but they earned it. Like pops always said: "They's all the same from the waist down." But what about when they don't even got no legs to fall down the stairs with?
![]()
Girls Girls Girls S/T CS (Albert's Basement)
![]()
In contrasting fashion to the fairly rocking atmosphere of the above mentioned GGG release, here we have the gang going out even further in their adoption of a drone approach to Garage instrumentation, and it's a great idea. I know you’ve seen it all, and have likely witnessed plenty of bands over your 100 + years on God’s Green Earth do this kinda thing, and sure, I’ve seen some too. None have really nailed it, to my knowledge at least, in the way Gx3 do on this tape though. What I'm hearing in much of Earle's music in general seems to be a consistent Jap-Psych influence, and it continues here, switching the heavy guitar torture for a more subdued and textured mode, kinda like a Free Rock take on Group Ongaku. I dunno, maybe that's too obvious. Or maybe it's off base, but 'swhat it sounds like to me. From what I understand, the band on this tape is a different line up from the album, and quite naturally, it shows. F'rinstance, where'd the drums go? Percussion is here, but it's more in the form of muffled cymbal scrapes and other space-inducing "techniques." Likewise, it's much more sparse than Borsch, wallowing in dusty climates where notes can last a minute and the notion of song form is only a vauge memory. Each side is comprised of a single long, drawn out improvisation, one being fairly akin to the album at its most fractured, and the other a thin and structureless midnight romp through the dessert. Many would call this aimless, even tedious stuff, and I can't I blame them. But what separates it from countless others who have mined similar territory is that this tape's just so far gone past even a consideration of intelligible music dynamics it's almost like each misguided strum or pluck is an attempt to dodge the lingering specter of coherence, further reaffirming that somewhere in the antipodean distance, far away from the woeful precipice of Friend Rock, resides this band. It's both a fine and rare thing, indeed.
Jason Lescalleet How to Not Do it (Chondritic)
Jason Lescalleet has long been a towering figure (both in terms of influence and physical presence. He's a pretty big guy) amid the careful-listening-required/
serious noise/non-music crowd, even if his work is never dry and, in the case of this new self-referencing tape, fairly absent of much "noise," per se. Like his frequent collaborator and
PtMiiC fave Graham Lambkin, Lescalleet's no stranger to sampling, and on this release a good portion consists of other people's music. In fact, about half the B-side, "Goin' Blind", is basically just a slurred 'n' blurred treatment of Manfred Mann's version of "Blinded by the Light," and were DJ Screw still sippin' I think he'd be proud. The way this gradually gets reshaped into a desolate echoed death stare, like a re-contextualized excerpt from a Ligeti piece or something, exhibits the height of Lescalleet's recent fascination with tweaking low brow or ubiquitous source materials into something completely unique. The A-side features a number of puzzling and expletive-laden phone messages intermingled with the kind of cranking low-end and tape collage work the man's well known for, and the different elements are alternated to truly jarring effect. What might come off as clumsy in the hands of a less skilled artist seems incredibly natural here. Really, this just sounds like the work of a someone very confident in what he does, so much so that he can present how "not to do it", manipulating vastly differnt areas of sound in a highly intuitive fashion. The cassette itself is silk screened beautifully as well and packaged in a shiny gold and green J-card. Not necessarily the best place to go for the n00b interested in jumping into Lescalleet's decade-plus old career (I'd say start with his Nmperign collaborations or massive brow beater
The Pilgrim) but a solid release in his constantly growing cannon nonetheless. LP w/ Aaron Dilloway on Pan and dbl CD titled
Songs About Nothing (as opposed to fucking) on the solo imprint of Erstwhile are imminent, maybe by the time this review gets posted. Put 'em on the glass and keep 'em there.
Mad Nanna Live at Kofs Mana Festing 17th March 2012 (Albert's Basement)
Human beings are truly a despicable lot. If you possess the capacity to contemplate your own life and death, you hardly got any choice but to look out for no. one. I think they call it "evolution" or "survival tactics" or something. You can either acknowledge this, do nothing about it and go on fending for yourself in a rather open manner, recognize it and attempt to be at least somewhat sympathetic of others' needs while trying to get your own little slice of tha Pie, or pretend you don't believe in this basic tenant of human nature and navigate your environment like a giant singing ass hat whose (probably) rich hippy parents ingrained in them a sense of entitlement and faux-compassion. None of this relates to this cassette at all; I don't know the members of Mad Nanna personally but I imagine they'd be somewhere along the lines of #2, which seems to be the most desirable option in my eyes. I just feel like I gotta write something else in here beside a description of the music since lately
PtMiiC feels like a perpetual Mad Nanna cheer leading squad. Look, I like this band, so here's their newest offering: It's a live cassette, as text on the inside suggests, recorded at the performance listed above. The sound produced from the magnetic tape when you press play on your deck includes a smattering of 'Nanna favorites, played in a surprisingly straight-faced manner for this group. We get what, by my count, is the third live take of "If I Don't Sleep Tonight," but it still sounds fresh to these ears. “I Made Blood Better” also makes it’s (at least) third appearance, sputtering about like The Good Missionaries on a bad day. The closing number sounds new to me and fades into tape hiss just as it's getting gone. Here's to hoping that one sees the light of day in proper format soon enough. Through listening it's become apparent that the players in Mad Nanna are fairly competent at their instruments, making the thin strands of music [sic] they've exhibited on previous releases seem that much more antagonistic. I mean, it was obvious the drummer had some chops from the LP, but here we find the whole band cookin' at full steam, though at times it seems a little too together. I imagine this is the go-to release these guys play for family members who ask to hear their band, but it's still about as comfortable as watching a Fernando Arrabal flick
with said family member afterwards, so pull the trigger if 'ya got one I'd say.
Mad Scene Blip (Siltbreeze)
Is somebody in this band from Orstralia? There's like 15 people involved in this production at least, one of 'em's gotta be. Anyway, here we got the 18-year-in-the-making follow up to the band's last album, which my six year old self unfortunately missed out on, and hasn't picked up in the intervening time, but I'm happy to hop aboard the Mad Scene express with this one. Admittedly, I don't find myself reaching for anything so overtly placid in song-based form often, but if I do then Hamish Kilgour and Brian Turner's input is always welcome, and for whatever reason this one's really resonating, thus earning it a ton of repeat plays."Loreli" starts affairs off with a propulsive beat very much in line with the classic Kiwi Pop approach you might expect given the personnel, and a riff that sounds oddly familiar. Then, a few more spins in it hits you-"Hey, I think they might've swiped a chord or two from "Needles in the Camel's Eye!" That's quite alright though; anybody looking for originality in Pop Music these days is only going to find a dead end. Whether intentional or not, this kind of re-appropriation appears frequently over the course of the album; like on frolicsome side B-opener "Nasty Girl," where Kilgour moans what I believe are the words "Pushing way too far," though on first listen one would swear it's "Pushing too hard," particularly with an album so indebted to a
Nuggets-esque sensibility of care free, mildly Psychedelic Pop. Some of the more moody, down tempo tracks, like "Catburglar" or "Suzy," recall
Painted World-era TVPs beautifully, and yes, I realize I'm pretty much just re-iterating the references stated in the label write up, but they seem to fit just fine. Or maybe I don't really have the vocabulary to talk about this kinda band. But does anyone really? This is simple, non-challenging stuff, and I think it's enough to just enjoy it for what it is without too much dissection. Produced by Sonic Boom, so there's a bunch of fancy and unnecessary shit in the mix, but the songs are there, and that's what matters of course. Great to play when trying to momentarily fool a member of the opposite sex into thinking your not a total creep or the like.
Mountain Cult S/T 7" (Self released)
Debut E.P. by a newish NYC band that leaves plenty to sink the teeth into. Comprised largely of only the shoddiest of Bo Diddley beats, the most rubber band of baselines, and a guitar that’s strings seem more likely to snap with each passing note, this five-songer goes by in a jolt and leaves everyone in it's wake (or maybe it's just me) groggy and confused. Hmmm, this record would fit in great on Black Jack or Majora circa ‘94, but present-day Brooklyn? Colour me intrigued. It's deconstructed Blues Rock basically, and the crappy all tom/no cymbals drumming is bound to elicit comparisons to the Gories, but this is fried in a more drugs than booze kinda way. 'Ya know how after Big Star Chilton was so good at guitar he started playing sloppy shit just 'cos he was bored? Well with this it's like the band is so unskilled they're trying for Chilton's slop takes and failing, which means winning in our book! The guy singing sounds like he’s about to nod out the whole time, so much so that by the time the last song, down beat bender “Friends,” rolls around, I swear you can hear Haggerty’s old horse dealer in the background. Bombed out and depleted in a way similar to the early singles of Pink Reason or Home Blitz. That is to say “good.” Wheter they'll have the staying power of either of those acts remains to be seen. A few minor gripes: the band evidently wanted to fit in as much as they could on their first record, a noble act to be sure, but with five songs on a 33 RPM 7" this thing definitely lacks kick. Also, the artwork's pretty ugly, and not good ugly, just kinda thrown together haphazardly. Still, I’d rather have a bad looking record with quality tunes than a good looking one with turds, and I bet you would too. LP forthcoming on Little Big Chief, which will hopefully give 'em room to spread out w/o detriment to sound quality. Sign me up for a copy.
Slavemaster Demo CS (Self released)
Man, a lot of tapes this time 'round, this one being a pretty punishing trip from Coopersburg, PA's possibly one and only one-man Hard Rock act. Full disclosure, I used to play in a number of band's ranging from mildly to extremely embarrassing with the bull behind this project, so it's understood that I got a bias the size of Hamburger Hill here, but honestly my only qualm with the cassette in question is that nothing we did together was this good. The sounds provided in these five songs are certainly not without reference to other loose interpretations of modern Hardcore aesthetics. Often while listening it had me thinking "Condominium with a drum machine?" and the ambient guitar heroics of the drone piece, "Father" that follows the more standard heavy Punk of the first four tracks might not seem quite as adventurous as it once would considering the post-Dry Rot world we're living in (fittingly, Amps for Christ seems an apt comparison to the structured noodling implemented there as well). It also reminds me of a successful take at what that whole Iron Lung/Walls/PHT family of bands that many seem to enjoy, though I've always found super boring ('cept Cold Sweat I guess) are always going for. Legit damage, in other words. Really, it's the kind thing anyone who grew up listening to hard music and wasn't a baby about it should logically be making. There's also a subtle Heavy/Classic Rock influence detectable in tracks like "Vomit" and "Slither like a Serpent," the likes of which can only be a natural consequence of countless hours spent listening to Fraction and Trouble while paging through back issues of
Cat Fancy magazine. Hell of a live show as well, that employs a full band to tight and seamless effect. Plenty of material left in the vaults I hear, I'd like to see it keep coming. Order inquires go here:
SLAVE.MASTER.Productions@gmail.com.
V/A The Rebel/Bomber Jackets Split 7" (Kill Shaman/Savoury Days)
Let’s just get one thing out of the way: I fucking hate split 7”s. I cannot remember the last time I bought and/or even listened to one. Terrible format. But a record with the Rebel and some bull from the Pheromoans? OK, I’ll give ‘er a go. B.Wallers starts out the suggested A-side with a really enjoyable kinda Acid-House/Dance Industrial instrumental titled "SLC BTR." It bumbles around some tight and menacing synth riffs in a way the early work of Conrad Schnitzler did long before him and ends too soon. The other track on his side though, "BTR PHOTO", ehhhh not so enjoyable. It's the kind of pointless video game music Wallers feels the need to lay down every so often, seemingly as a way of thinning the heard. This type of thing might work for Cheveau on occassion, but I've never quite been able to reconcile with this side of The Rebel's output. Maybe you can. On the flip we have an Electronica side project of Pheromoans vocalist/Savoury Days co-chairman Russell Walker and Sarah Datblygu of Wet Dog. It starts off with "Strange Sensation," which consists of little more than minimal drum machine beats and poetry read through a modified/robotic vocal filter. That song gradually fades out and jarringly upbeat, dance floor ready "Routemaster" takes hold, which really caught me off guard. Intricate electronics blare as Walker sings in a surprisingly confident and earnest fashion. From what I understand this is supposed to be a shamelessly Pop-oriented project though, so there you have it. At it's worst still about 100x better than Daughn Gibson, but far from my cup of decidedly English tea. The dreaded split single remains my enemy, just as it was yesterday, and the day before that.
Xwave Cities On Flame (Little Big Chief)
The second of two BDTD-related releases from
PtMiiC-approved (a dubious accolade if there ever was one) Little Big Chief, and my favorite of the pair. It was originally released in altered form as a CDr by (BDTD) label proprietor Matt Earle in '08 in a limited edition of something silly like 50 copies, and now there's 250 more floating around on vinyl, as it always should have been. And you can take that to the bank turkey, 'cos I got no hold ups in saying that some of what I’ve heard from the decidedly bong-rattled BDTD catalog, while usually having something worthwhile to take in, aren't exactly vinyl-ready/worthy. Not an insult either, as I'm quite sure that's not really "the point," or whatever, to the label (i.e. it's why they put out CS/CDrs and not records). With this goose though, no, not the case. The Denudes/K.Haino tag sure is gonna be hard to shake for many, and yeah, it fits pretty often. But what's so wrong with 'at? Guitar maltreatment, when in the hands of a competent abuser, it usually a downright admirable thing, and I'd say Earle and his crew (sorry to the other band members but the sleeve provides nothing in the way of info.) have more than earned such a distinction. Second, the record's got plenty more to offer than simply basement level PSF moves. On opener "Wasted" the vocalist adds a little vinegar to his voice while modifying Keith Morris's age old couplet to "I am a hippie/I am a burnout!" With Flag's original it always sounded like Keith had tongue firmly planted in cheek, but after being submitted to the smoky and hypnotic warble of XWave's take it's not quite so clear. "Teenage Thrills" seems to reference the formless Psychedelia of Fuckin' Flyin' A-Heads, not exactly in sound, but more so in the utterly confusing instrument/recording dynamics. The choicest of nugs to be found on this pup though is the side long flip "Citie on Flame," which did not appear on the 2008 release. Here the shambolic dirge and tin-can sound quality of the former is upped to an atmospheric mid-fi murmur. Is this even the same band? It seriously sounds like they took Rocket from the Tombs level crud-caking and applied it to the expansive nature of something like
Pavilion of Dreams, then got Kevin Drumm to handle the masters 'stead of Eno. I don't get to say this often, but this record is pure heat. Not unlike that which emanates from a city, on flame, perhaps? Doh.
Russell Walker Willow Session (Savoury Days)
Here's a solo CDr from a member of the Pheromoans, put out on house label Savoury Days, whom we've talked up plenty around these parts already. It's a fragile sort of stumbling, barely-there folk that would enchant the mind of many a dark ale drinking, baby faced Lout. Hey, I think I just described myself! We'll try not to be biased though, because here at
PtMiiC we believe in honesty, such a rare quality in "music journalism," and by and large, the world indeed. Throughout the 14 songs in roughly as many minutes featured on this disc tapes crack, half-baked "poetry" (why not?) gets read and Russell strums at his six string with all the bravado of a less competent Corwood rep. (and I'm not throwing out a Jandek reference just 'cos I'm lazy OK? It actually fits for once). I've listened to this a lot, mainly in my car on the way to the work during a number of rainy mornings we've had in early June here in Philadelphia, and it has elicited many a wrinkled brow on that previously mentioned baby face. Much has been said of music (or more fittingly, anti-music) that never really gets going; music that sounds anxious and unsure of itself. But with this thing it's a goddamn miracle that R.Walker can even get out of bed with his hand-held to source field recordings from the local market. He manages to do so though, and I'd say the world's a better place for it. Imagine Pip Proud talking in his sleep, Alastair Galbraith with a couple fingers missing or the least-musically-inclined components of the Dry Leaf roster. Or the kids who backed Trimble covering Donovan. Or trying to play some British SSW/troubadour tunes after a kick in the nards from a strong toddler. Really, imagine these things. This is kind of what this CD sounds like and I find it quite enjoyable. And it's not because it's "shitty" or "inept" either Putzo; it's got fucking class. A good way to get even your most "open minded" of music-liking friends to leave the room when you're ready for some me time. And over my way we call that a gift that keeps on giving.
Warrior Kids Les Enfants De L'Espoir (Katorga Works)
The international Oi section of my record collection is sorely lacking, so I was all to 'cited to pick up this reissue of the sole long player from Frogland's Warrior Kids, reissued by NYC's Katorga Works to commemorate both the band's 30th anniversary and a trip to the States to play this year's Chaos and all that nonsense. If you're looking for some raw, street tumble worthy boot parties though search elsewhere; musically this is much closer to the 4 Skins line-up that recorded "Plastic Gangster" than that which appeared on
Oi! The Album. But hey, that’s not always a bad thing. Upon taking it out for a spin opening “Personne” gave me reason enough to keep hopes high. “OK, so we’re dealing with a sort of stripped down, less ambitious Blackfoot take on
Shock Troops.” (ironic, isn’t it?) was the thought that pambled about my stupid brain, and who couldn’t live with that? The second cut
[insert long French title] was decent enough as well, but the hooks were lacking in comparison to the first. Well these albums tend to be front loaded anyway, I’m not giving up just yet. Then we get to the third track “Ville Morte” and Ska starts to rear its 2-toned head. The rest of the album goes by in similar, fairly unexciting fashion, mixing up a sprite Punk/Pop number or two with heavy 3
rd wave proto-pickle skankin'. Some tracks are tasteful about it, like closing A-side jam “Rafale,” kinda bringing to mind the Reggae-influenced cut off the Sods LP (that'd be "Copenhagen" for those keeping track), but also lacking the bite that made the latter agreeable. The pictures in the gatefold of clean cut lads standing in front of breathtaking European vistas are very telling. The band is SMILING in everyone of ‘em! A skin head band, smiling! But I can’t blame ‘em; their surroundings look pretty nice. Maybe this is why the French are so incapable of sounding tough. I mean I love a ton of French music, all their weird Proggy bits and tape machine work outs, F. Battiato throwin' the cat on the grill
[Ed.-Eh, don't know why I mixed this up but Battiato is a meatball eater, not French. Replace that with Luc Ferrari or Pierre Henry or something though, point still stands], but it's never tough 'ya know? I digress...so this album isn’t bad by any stretch, though I'm struggling to imagine who would consider it "classic” or “seminal,” in particularly anyone removed from it’s release by 30 years. Another middle of the roader (but hey, at least it ‘aint Merchandise) for Katorga, leading me to believe their early scorchers were somewhat of a fluke.
In an unrelated note: R.I.P. Dennis Flemion
Oh those Brits, always up for a good pun at moment's notice. Here we got the debut E.P. by a promising new English free-form Psych act, brought to us by the ever-exciting Savoury Days camp. I don't know about you, blog reader, but the folks over at SD HQ are one of the few contemporary facets consistently churning out new product that catches my eye. What's so great about 'em, huh? Why don't you fawn over my new electronic-pop project like every other tasteless sap on the Internet, ehhhh? Whys my butt itch?-I know I took a shower, eckkk! Well maybe I'm just not paying close enough attention to other outlets, but when you got a label headed by two Pheromoans putting out comps. featuring new tracks by the likes of Goss and Chloe saddled next to previously unreleased Door and The Window (even if I missed out on a copy, youch!) my ears are all a-perk. And then 'ya got confounding little platters like this one. Supposedly there are multiple songs on it, but it all moves along like a single extended, barbiturate-induced dry heave, swimming in the same sonic currents as an updated Damin EIH, A.L.K. & Brother Clark or what a second Real Traitors record may have sounded like. Real Psychedelia for the surreal times we live in, not some glorified form of historical reenactment. Yes, like the majority of their worthwhile predecessors, this bunch appears to know its better to role around in your own muck than spend time aping past conventions, or updating them by simply conforming into the framework of a newer, stupider one. As usual, a review comes off as overly snarky when it wasn't necessarily meant to, but I'm in a bad mood and this record just makes sense in a way that few do.
Typically it takes me hearing from like 18 well-trusted sources that a newish hardcore band smokes before I get off my arse and actually pick something up by them. I'm not even trying to be a prick most of the time, but I just don't have much of a taste for this shit lately and have been burned too many times in the recent past by some muppet baby level thrashing. Of course, that means I miss out on good records fairly often, which, if this four song E.P. is any indication, appears to be the case with the back catalog of Upstate NY's Brown Sugar. Better late than never though I 'spose, 'cos what I'm hearing from this shiny disc is a fine appreciation/understanding of several key eras of American knuckle-draggin' sounds. No single song on here references one specific band or record, it's more like they sat around for days drinkin' dirt shakes while absorbing (note: big difference from "studying") the essential classics of '69 Detroit, '78 LA/SF and Cleveland '75-present to make 'em their own. Take the opening cut, "La, La Land," which sounds like the band is formed from a rag-tag ensemble of the Seeds, Germs and Feederz. Or closing "Sweet Water Pink Boat," which works through a riff that I could see Lincoln Street Exit or Verbal Abuse having equal amounts of fun with. The two quick ones in-between are no sleepers either. Plus, unless my ears/memory fail me, I'm pretty sure the thing begins with a sample from Tommy Viseau's The Room, so how could anybody not get behind this band? I look forward to approximately 5 1/2 months when I hear another hardcore record that hits me as hard as this one.
Bleak, though not necessarily "cold," minimal wave emissions by a member of undoubtedly my favorite No New York outfit (though Mars could give 'em a run for their $ on a good day). I'm not necessarily the biggest fan of 80's (or 80's influenced) minimal electronics, because most of it is, you know...stupid, but when you got the bull who handled synths for DNA at the helm I don't mind givin' 'er a looky-lou. And hey, after hearing Robin Crutchfield's first "solo" (he's accompanied here by Phil Kline on guitar/bass/synth/piano and Barry Friar plays live drums) release (named after Bunuel's moronic censure of the French aristocracy) I'm happy I did. As far as sound/atmosphere goes, I'd say this one has as much in common with SPK and early DAF as it does John Bender. In fact, it's kind of a nice middle ground between the two, heavy on the mechanical lurch, but still retaining a pop approach pretty much devoid of experimentation. On the better tracks the thing at least ogles with it though. Take "Trapped" for instance, an eerie dub/dance hybrid closing out side one that approximates some of the better moments on Cab Voltaire's Red Mecca a year before that album even came out. Or "Arp's Carpet," wherein Crutchfield wheezes and drones into some kinda voice modulator underneath a claustrophobic beat like a sexually frustrated android. "Crown of Thorns" is an instrumental adaptation of a Pyramids song and indeed elicits mental images of sand covered vistas, camels, King Tut and the like. I could go on all day here but I think you get the idea. Comes with a handy poster/lyric sheet showcasing Crutchfield's large ears and often unintentionally humorous song descriptions. If this shit came out today all these losers who pretend to like Goth/Industrial would be discussing it in between figuring out how to look like bigger assholes. Somebody get this guy an 18 LP V.O.D. box set already!
Values, ethos and morals are important to consider in these dire times. As I grow older and the threat of a day when I can no longer see my own feet looms large, one select life philosophy that continues to increase in relevance exponentially is this: "You don't fuck with feedtime." And who would? It'd simply be a waste of your and everyone else's time. I can scarcely think of anything more honest, more pure, more true to the spirit of freak Rock music than the racket kicked up by Al, Rick & Tom in their prime. And as a recent "critical re-evaluation" (not gonna bother reviewing the Sub Pop box, but if you don't have those LP's then get on it, obviously) and tour have confirmed, they're still able to bring the heat. Reunions are typically beyond-pathetic, but when I made the trek up to NYC this past March to catch feedtime it was maybe the only instance where one of these soirees actually made me like a band more. Not knowing the members at all I have very little insight, and am aware I may be projecting here, but they seem so completely divorced from the deplorable indie industry tug-n-rug. After hearing far too many hacks strategize how to get signed to Drag City with their self-indulgent fake psych act or some such nonsense, it just makes a band as uncompromisingly smart and tough as feedtime appear that much better. And after spinning those first four LP's over and over (still haven't heard Billy) it's really nice to get this collection of outtakes. Calling these outtakes seems unfair though, 'cos many of the songs on here would put the top content of lesser bands to shame. Featuring material recorded mainly around the time of the S/T and Shovel, it has got everything a fan could want. Wire-styled Post Punk, if Colin, Bruce & Graham were heavy handed mechanics instead of nimble-fingered art students? Check out opener "Nice." Piss-raw version of "Shovel"? You got it horse face. Covers? How 'bout an even rougher, more deconstructed take on "Street Fighting Man" than was featured on Cooper-S, or a stab at Flipper's "Life" for fuck's sake?! The mid to late 80's tend to get a pretty bad rap from most Rockist points of view, but they birthed us feedtime, and that's enough to forgive a million Steve Albini/Thurston Moore-headed circle jerks in my book.
Debut solo long player for Dick Papiercuts, long time NYC Avant Rock man-about-town, and 14+ years under his belt with sporadically operating Chinese Restaurants, as well as the first release for the CA-based Pena label. I thought that the last two Chinese Restaurants singles on SS a few years back were fine enough, but their no-fi, (probably intentionally off-putting) jokey nature didn't earn 'em many repeat plays in my household. The press writeup on this thing just sounded so damn enticing I couldn't resist though. Label's shilling it as an urban update to Corky's Debt...well sheeiiitt Holmes, nem's sum pretty big shoes to fill. Let's try 'em on for size...what'd 'ya know-they fit! The joking continues on this record, with the word play in the name, ridiculous vocal crooning and plenty of piss-taking on innocent targets (Joy Division and Bunuel on "Virdiana," Mighty Baby on "The Devils", the godawful new-wave cum-on of "Let's Make Love," just to name a few) but it doesn't seem as tossed off this time around to me. In fact nothing sounds tossed off at all. The songs on this record are complex, diverse, and in their own peculiar way, mature. After a noisy opening blast Dick settles into the lunging "Yolanda", sounding like the estranged 4th Walker Brother whose share of tunes written for Nite Flites got cut from the original. To close out the A-side, the Restaurant's protest staple "River of Shit" gets re-worked sans Obama speech-clip with members of Ultra Bunny and Pop. 1280. "Mary Ann (The Lens)" is like the Frogs on an English Folk bender and self-references "River of Shit" in its lyrics. And closer "Johnnie" sounds oddly akin, whether it was intended to or not, to Hurt Me-era Thunders. As someone who often finds himself a good deal funnier and more charming than others seem to, I feel like I can really relate to where Dick's coming from with this one. Even if the quips aren't good, some body's gotta laugh at 'em. You know that well intentioned, vaguely-creepy yet awesome older dude who schooled you on everything from Canterbury Prog. to the books Tarkovsky adapted his story-lines from when you were like 19, but when you heard the music he was working on it was just kinda corny and tedious? This is like if it were really good instead. 
Fucking Christ! How come I'm not seeing this thing discussed more? 1.) Most importantly (that's why it's at no. 1), this record sounds fantastic; the noises it makes when needle touches down are kewl 2.) The context of this record is insane! South African apartheid. This album would be pretty weird if it came out in America today, but Johannesburg '81? Nuts. 3.) I don't know, did I mention it's a pretty good record? Basically, it's Culturcide or This Heat if they came up under the stifling social conditions they often railed against. I mean, the Go Go Band's sole vinyl document isn't exactly on the same level as Deceit, but it's got a gritty quality very much akin to 'da Heat's S/T or the tape abusing assault of Year One. And it's 'cos a lot of the influences are similar: R.I.O., Concrete-based analog experiments, budding industrial. Maybe add in some R.Ali/Coltrane collaborations (I'm thinking mainly "Unborn and Twisted," a solo piece that breaks up units three and four of the album) and this is what you get. But how did they get hipped to this shit in the ultra-conservative culture they were living in? Former member Yunus Momoniat (Oi! Wuz wit the funny name?) makes reference to a small scene of mix-raced counter-cultural opposition in a Jewish suburb the white guy in the band was living in, with conceptual artists rubbing up against social/political activists. And he confirms that Free Jazz was an influence on the democratic, cooperative band structure, which also employed a set of other improvisers, billed as "Special Guests on Fire," for these recording sessions. But still, according to him they knew of nobody else that really made this kind of music, and hey, who am I to question it? I can't think of too many who sound like it today. Total of 500 pressed by the band with the vast majority of the first batch destroyed (of course) by toxic glue used to paste inserts on the covers, and distributed terribly at the time by all accounts, further reinforcing that this reissue is one of the more vital documents the decade plus old SS label has released. And that's saying something.
Second release on a subsidiary of SS geared to focus on non-Rock reissues/archival recordings, with particular attention towards ethnic music. I'm certainly no authority in this area, but sound-wise imagine maybe a Salsa informed take on Free Your Mind...and Your Ass Will Follow featuring vocalists arguably as annoying as Steve Ignorant and Penny Rimbaud. Sounds fucking incredible right? Totally a product of its time, which was the blighted squalor of early 80's NYC, and featured members with connections to the Contortions, Ornette Coleman and Rollins Band (can't make this shit up folks), along side a big name Latin horn section, and all headed by political film maker Ed Montgomery, lending a little more insight into how this incredibly whacked blend of No Wave, Funk and Free Jazz, with spoken word elements, could come together as tightly as it did. Originals were pressed by Montgomery as the sole release on the Context label in '81, but by all accounts the unrelenting raps on racial injustice and social class struggles inherent to tha city were not what fun loving ethno-dance types were tryin' to hear. Before you get all "Ewww political music!" on me, just remember that your ancestors really did do some pretty awful things Whitey, so I think you can handle being reminded of it for 40-some minutes, particularly when its backed by grooves this hard. And besides, one's always looking to fill more slots in the "just-pre coke binge Miles"-influenced section of his or her record collection, so albums that deliver on this caliber are more than a welcome acquisition. 
