For the sake of tryin to spike this morning w/a dose of vinegar, I gotta admit my wonderment as to why the horns 'n hardwires from the Louisville collective (sometimes) known as the Black Velvet Fuckere seem so distant. On the surface they possess all the killer b's (beards, ballcaps, banjos) to step onto the tarmac for a New Weird America space launch, but yet somehow-thankfully-they have not bought into the illusion/delusion of folding into space that seems predominate with niche bands & bozo's whose zipcodes begin with 0, 1 or 9. Also, they don't seem to reap the perks of the heavy petting & finger-banging from the virtual Shaddam Corrino's or Guild Navigator's so prevalent on the (coastal) hipster "scene". Landlocked & Midwestern, they have a smattering of homemade money (i.e. tapes, cdr's) in circulation, but it pales in comparison to most of their less disciplined, unfocused contemporaries. Rightly or wrongly, I think these BVF folks have to actually work for a living, you know, hold down jobs, punch a clock, live off a paycheck. Sure, it kills the Sunday late night jams & makes tourin virtually impossible, but I can think of worse things (livin on the street for one). However, the upside is havin the cash to plonk down for "real" product, like the Valley of The Ashes triple lp, the Uncle Jim & Phantom Family Halo album's & this new 7" from Sapat.
Now when I seen Sapat sometime last yr, they was playin in the sauna room of a converted gymnasium in Maysville, KY for a KTGA benefit (Kentucky Tobacco Growers Association). Like I said, the "part" look they had down (part Hatfield, part McCoy) & the lineup was as an octet-just like some of them outfits hailin outta MA or NYC-& when they commenced to playin it was focused & intense. Never did the action "peak" so's one of'em could destroy a set of drums'n then dance in a fit of spontaneous"free interpretation", nor were there any members crawlin outta the audience to caterwaul into a mike like a raccoon w/a yeast infection. They harnessed some serious kosmiche energy w/o any noticable trace of irony or aspiration for inner circle acceptance. It was simply what they did & they hammered it like John Henry. And now here comes this 7" & it too features the octet lineup but it don't evoke the same fresh water Can flavor that I recall from suddenly last summer. Rather, this seems more like what I imagine a jammy time at Indica Gallery might've sounded like when Zapple artist's congregated for a meet 'n greet. Hint's of Elephant's Memory, Plastic Ono & Brute Force abound. The waft of patchouli, incense & hashish is palpable. Barry Miles might not agree, but fuck him, Hippie ain't no real way to go through life. It is artifice, an embodiment of the modern instinct which is basically a license to glut & suck. Rousseau said something like "it is difficult to think nobly when one thinks only of earning a living." Ya hear me? Sapat, however, are in the throes of Arcadian splendor; their scene unspoiled, their music-golden. I know....anything is possible & if I ever see a hoglist bearin their name, full've bogus homebake swag ala Acid Mother's Temple (among others) I'll know they packed it in, but right now, they are nestled firmly in the hand of the creator. And since I'm all about the here & now, that suits me to a T.
('Tongue-Tied & Staid is available via http://www.s-srecords.com/
or email blackvelvet79@hotmail.com to find out more).
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