Back from the Rave w/ More Useless Reviews:

Huh, been a little while since a "proper" update I suppose. That can be attributed not to a lack of recent acquisitions, but rather a lack of working computer, motivation and/or anything enlightening to say about whatever records found their way under my beady gaze. Coupled with the fact that in the rare instances I had access to a computer and time to write, it wasn't music that got the priority, and you get no posts. To date arguably only one of these circumstances has been rectified, and indeed it seems like little more than a waste of time to offer my shit-takes. I certainly don't have it in me to keep up with the rate of good music being produced, and I can't imagine the drudgery of doing it for every new release gripped. Many others are out there to make a better (and worse) job of it. But occasionally something I hear will elicit a reaction and accompanying urge to expand it into multiple long-winded sentences. At least it saves me from spending $ at the bar on some nights. Probably post one more of these review-centered updates shortly, then focus will be shifted to a slightly more worthwhile endeavor, the fifth and final issue of PtMiiC. The hair on your tits will undoubtedly stand on end when viewing its contents in the relatively distant future. 'Til then throw that fuggin' baby out wit tha bath water:

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.

A Mysterious Video

A Worthwhile Musical Event:

Philadelphia area residents with class are strongly suggested to attend.

More information here: http://www.facebook.com/PhonographicArts
& here: http://phonographicartssouthphilly.tumblr.com/

Also, catch Servant Stairs w/ Pink Reason and Motorcycles 9/9 in Allentown, PA. Sportman's Cafe. 8 P.M. 21+.

Greetings from Around the Globes!

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

Hey, check out this bullshit:

'Ya know, I originally started PtMiiC up 'cos I wanted to write about music in a tangible form. As the swaths of you that actually give me money in exchange for paper with my scribblings on it may be aware of, there's typically a considerable lag between issues. It became apparent after doing the last one though, that the lag is gonna get even laggier. It's fun doing this thing and all, but I'm a one man operation here (shimmering insights of the "Journalist" notwithstanding) and I just don't have it in me to crank 'em out at even the irregular pace we're already working with. But fret not 'Coffin' enthusiast! In light of that dilemma this blog will be seeing a little more action. To start off we got a round of reviews that didn't make it to the last issue due to page and/or time constraints. Dig in muffin mouth!:

Acolytes "Known Nonsense" 7" (Savoury Days)

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.

Brown Sugar "Tropical Disease" 7" (Fashionable Idiots/Feral Kid)

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.

Cheater Slicks Guttural-Live 2010 (Columbus Discount)

While I'm aware not many people (at least anybody reading this pap) needs to be told so, the Cheater Slicks are a rare breed. Name one Rock band who continues to get better with age, over two decades into their career. Do it turkey breath, I dare 'ya! Since the late 80's the Slicks have been putting out great records. Not good records, not so-so records, great ones, damn near all of them (though my collection certainly has some holes to fill, particularly in the singles dept.). Their level of quality control is unprecedented, especially in the beyond-stale pastures of modern Garage Rock, and its 'cos over the years the Slicks have continuously refined their approach, while always staying true to the quest for pure of R 'n' R debasement. Whether it be flirtations with Psych-Pop (title track to Refried Dreams), white hot Noise (Don't Like You + too many others examples to list) or deconstructed Free Jazz (Bats in the Dead Trees) they've managed to mold everything into their own distinctly shit-caked renderings, and the older Dana Hatch, Dave and Tom Shannon get, the more dreary and primitive their music seems to become. It has often been noted that their brand of world-beaten Garage has possibly no better setting than right in front of your blurry line of sight at last call, making a planned suite of studio-less recordings, though I'm generally averse to live albums, a highly logical enterprise. Don't get the wrong idea, this thing doesn't like, project holograms of them playing; it's just the audio. But it's still a rather nice document for those of us who rarely get a chance to see them play. The first of a three part collection (don't, eh, get your hopes up about the other two coming out anytime soon though) Guttural features staples from the band's entire oeuvre recorded at various Columbus, OH locales, including favorites like "Feel Free," a cover of the Modds juvenile 60's punk classic "Leave My House," and an absolutely scorching rendition of "Ghost." What more's there to say? Yack, yack, yack, the Slicks are tits, you already know this, so buy (Or don't. Why the fuck would I care?).

Dark Day Exterminating Angel (Dark Entries)

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!

feedtime Today is Friday (SS)

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.

Mad Nanna "I Hit a Wall" b/w Untitled (Quemada)
Always a pleasure to see more 'Nanna in the pile, they being one of like five bands that're actually worth a toss at the moment. After picking through the wreckage (sans stick) of last calender cycle's trash heap their previous pair of singles came out pretty damn close to the top, so yeah, I was eager to "slip it in" this one. And as others have pointed out, it's another completely different, yet no less arresting, addition to the fine catalog of Rock dismemberment they've amassed thus far. "I Hit a Wall" might actually be the most together sounding tune we've heard from them to date, with legitimate structure, decipherable lyrics, and a chorus to boot. The music of Mad Nanna is maybe most akin to the act of eating an orange; it can be a pain to peel away the skin, but once the delicious juice found inside is dribblin' down your chin (gross) you know you made the right choice. Sure, some might say "why not just cut out the middle man and buy orange juice instead?" but it's clear they're missing the point entirely. The untitled B-side's a brief and thin strummer, working through a dingy riff while employing a bit of studio trickery to nice effect. If you've ever thought to yourself "a dryer Un" or "Jerry Solomon going right on 'Past the 21st Century'?" without cringing in terror, you really owe it to yourself to catch a grip of Nanna. And brush your teeth while your at it, you probably need to.

Mad Nanna I Made Blood Better (Negative Guest List)

At the risk of sounding like a giant windbag/asshole (too late, huh?), I’m gonna drone on about Mad Nanna’s debut long player in possibly inflated, largely non-musical terms: This record is getting stoned, driving to Taco Bell and hitting a deer on the way home. It’s agreeing to do something you know you’re not even going to make the slightest effort to do. It’s trying to wrap your tiny head around String Theory. It’s a lot of things that make life terrible and interesting and remind you that the universe really doesn’t care about anything you do at all. How any of that relates to this album, originally a cassette release that was re-sequenced for vinyl by the band and late Brendon Annesley, I’m not sure, but they’re the first few things I thought of when I eagerly threw it on my turntable (granted I was pretty high and had just gotten back from Taco Bell). There's really no sense in even writing about the songs themselves, all one needs to know is Mad Nanna seem to understand recorded sound’s ability to capture isolation and anxiety the way bands like the Godz, 49 Americans and Strangulated Beatoffs did before them. That’s not to say they sound much like any of the above, just a comparison to the overall claustrophobic feel. About half of this material is live, while the other is laid down in a studio of some sort, giving it a strangely urgent feel, like the band didn’t have time to record everything “properly”, or finish “writing” “songs,” or much of anything most bands feel the need to do. Nah, these guys were too busy plucking their hair out with tweezers and licking stamps (just a guess). I was originally unsure of how a whole LP’s worth of Mad Nanna, such a great singles band, would come off. Now I’m not sure if I could live with anything less. Before I run outta drool over here, it's suffice to say this is probably album of the year so far over at 'Coffin' HQ.

Noh Mercy S/T (Superior Viaduct)

Apparently to some people, Noh Mercy were a legendary band, possessing a mystique intensified by the fact that for decades their known repertoire consisted of merely two well-regarded contributions to the Earcom 3 comp. No boots, no rough demos, not even a goddamn live mp3 surfaced over the last 33 years. Now Superior Viaduct presents this tidy package, stuffed to the gills with not only the songs, but a nice eight page booklet including plenty of antecedents from people who were there, along with photos and related ephemera, that give an understandable context to this legitimately unique band. The label did a predictably bang-up job on their end, but when it comes down to it one cares about the songs, and they're really just not-that-good to these ears. If you're unfamiliar, then here's a brief description of the duo of Esmerelda (vocals) and Tony Hotel's (most other things) musical approach: no boys on guitars. Yeah, most of these tracks are just drums and and an angry woman yelling, which sounds like it could be great in theory, and was indeed a motivating factor in my purchase, but the majority of their output typically ends up feeling like its missing something...oh yeah, guitars! Eventually they do give in and fiddle around with Moogs, Farfisas and other instruments often associated with the making of conventional Rock music, and I like the whole performance art aspect the group took (except for their preoccupation with Japanese culture, that's pretty boring), but it comes off a little tiresome and self-serving much of the time. Esmerelda's attempts at rapping make Kevin Seconds look like Big L, songs like "Girl" and "Fashion Chant" come off like some B-Grade poetry written by the girl in a Skinny Puppy shirt you went to high school with, and one of the two previously released songs, "Revolutionary Spy" is pretty meh. Anticipated/informed Riot Grrrl, X-Ray Spex and the Raincoats? Cool, all those bands basically sucked though. Don't get me wrong, there are certainly redeeming aspects to this collection; "No Caucasian Guilt" really is pretty jarring, "Lines" is ahead of it's time primal Post-Punk backed by atonal guitar squeal and a repetitive synth pulse and "Play the Devil" manages to hold my attention with little more than tom fills and alternately spoken/shouted vocals, but overall this is something I could easily see making its way into the for sale pile next time I'm strapped for ca$h. Then again, I never cared much for the Avengers, who SV recently reissued a couple of singles for as well, so maybe I'm just a raging misogynist. Eh, so when is that long-overdue Church Police collection hitting the market?

                                                                  

Richard Papiercuts A Sudden Shift (Pena)

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.

Prisoners Go Go Band Live! At the Butchery (SS)

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.

Sedition Ensemble Regeneration Report (Sol Re Sol)

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.

V/A World’s Lousy with Ideas vol. 9 (Almost Ready)

After a three year absence the World's Lousy... series is "back with a bang, neowahhh" to deliver more top tier Garage-oriented excitement. I've long heard these are good comps. (sorry but I was never much of a "comp. guy" in general, so contemporary ones rarely pique my interest. Would love to own the vol. with Nothing People and Home Blitz though. Remember that shit selling out before I could cop), and the contents of this 7" certainly lead me to believe such a claim. Nothing on here sounds like a throwaway, outtake or re-hash, unlike many a compilation of yester-year, so that's always appreciated, and anybody bringing more Psandwich tracks to the world deserves a medal of some sort. A-side features a Hatch-penned slow burn delivered from depths murky enough to make Lee Hazlewood look like a member of the Compulsive Gamblers. Does that even make sense? Probably not, but once you hear the song maybe it will. B-side opens with a UK band called Thee (ugh) Spivs offering up a rollicking sorta tough Rockabilly number called "Men Don't Cry." It ain't so bad, but even though Billy Childish worship might not exactly be flooding the market at the current moment aren't there enough records actually featuring and/or produced by him to clog several land fills at this point? I just don't really see the point in looking anywhere but the source with a catalog that vast, but if you do then by all means, live your dreams guy. And the whole affair is rounded out by House and his crew of Columbus miscreants taking an auditory trip to the green pastures of Glasgow, Scotland for a tussle with Fun 4's gas chamber anthem "Singing in the Shower." I'd say they made the boys proud. Or at least made me feel alright about spending a couple bucks on this piece of circular vinyl. Either way, we all win for a change.

The End is 'Nigh: Issue IV is Here to Satiate the Masses!

After six months of infrequent working/incessant grumbling PtMiiC no. IV is off the printers and into your hands! Plant yourself in the room during a chat with a man whose clearly been of some influence 'round these parts, sound/visual artists and creator of the zine's namesake Graham Lambkin, as well as one of Punk's most exciting bands of the past four years or so, Twin City power trio Condominium. Plus, "The Journalist" broke into the labs of all those respectable music publications to steal one of their magical thinkin' caps-see what he came up with regarding the irrelevancy of genre classifications in these terrifying modern times. And of course the lengthy review section you've come to know and love or dislike or remain indifferent to.36 B&W pages with color center-spread. This issue is dedicated to Brendon NGL. FTW.

To procure:
Pay pal $4(US)/$4.50(Canada)/$6(Europa and beyond) to richiesdog@gmail.com