Monday, January 25, 2010

But Your Rock Candy, Baby.....A Big One & A Small One

Up till now what I's heard from Heather Leigh Murray ain't been much-that old Ash Castles cd from way back & a solo guitar lp from a yr or so ago, which I liked fine-nor could I say that my Chris Corsano collection is buldgin at the hips neither. But there ain't nothin that he ain't thumped that didn't sound hell bent & alls I do know's about Ms. Murray for sure is that she's in it for keeps, so'd I figured this duo collab what they call Jailbreak was gonna be a burner. But man, I wasn't expectin it to scream with flashbacks! The second that peddle steel cranked up in open D, it was like I was transported back to a Montose concert in late 74. I think it was w/Tull (coulda been Doobie Bros., to be honest,back then I'd see about anything) but it's alls a haze. It was frustratin times, just like now; Nixon had resigned & Ford was president, we's was in the midst of a recession as well as a war what was windin to a close, but thankfully the grass was cheap & there was plently of pills floodin the scene. I was livin in San Diego, done rotated outta the shit & cut loose from active service, so's I was lookin for good times & more's the merrier. Long story short; this Montrose's set. I'd gone down to the Sports Arena to meet some Marine buds, but got waylaid by some skimpy gal name've Toni-Jo what beguiled me w/Ripple, donkey d sticks've Mexi-bud & my 1st encounter w/a Quaalude. I knowed the 714 was supposed to create euphoria, but horned in a room-no matter how big- w/ so much active human debris, already tootled on rag 'n rot (me that is), it was gonna be anybody's call. Anyhow, back to the action, 2010; when Ms Murray rips open this lp called 'The Rocker' , she might as have been rakin them strings across the inside of my skull. There I was fightin the infernal racket w/everything I could muster, yet diggin it all the time. It was 'Bad Motor Scooter' live all over again. Ronnie was tearin into that intro back on that eventful night in Seven-Four; brain cells was meltin, worlds was collidin, the chickens of future past was comin home to roost. It was the kind've mental torture what'd make a Chinese brainwasher cream in his little red book! All's through 'Brought Down' (aka side 1) the air become thick & smelled of sweat 'n the sweet smoke of banana papers/ dirt cheeb fusin into the atmosphere. I had a damn-the-gravity feelin too, just like that 'lude had did me. Everything was movin so fast it was slowin down into practically individual snapshots of my personal demise. The wine was turnin over in my stomach, there was the distinct burnin sensation of vomit in the back of my throat. 'Cept all's I'd had was a Fresca 'n some pear cake. Then Corsano's drum's thunder into the fray like a cavalry charge. He might as well have been a thousand Denny Camassi's tubbin at once. I was knocked to my knees & for a moment I swear I could feel the soft caress of a woman's hand move gently across my tomented head. "Toni Jo!", I cried, "for fuck's sake, do not abandon me in this wonderous carnage"! I was beginnin to think that cake had growed some ergot (it'd been sittin out a while), no other explanation added up. Every now & again, I'd make out some vocals. "The Rocker" I said to myself, starin at the record cover, strugglin to hold on, "not the Red Rocker". It become a mantra & truth be told, I'd wager it's what anchored me. I was drenched in perspiration, just wetter'n an otter's pocket when the side came to an end. As for the flip (aka 'Sugar Blues), shit, that was tame in comparison; just your average North Vietnamese rocket attack where's these 2 simulate incomin rounds of mortars 'n whatnot. After what I'd just been through, I was happy to take cover behind the couch & let it play itself out. Given the choice, I'd take hittin the dirt while Katyusha missles blowed up around me to cleanin up 35 year old rancid puke what's been lodged loose by a couple've free wheelin karma dealers. I can't speak for nobody but myself but this record really shook ol' Roland Woodbe to his core. Maybe you's is made of stronger stuff, find out here;

Willie Lane up & self released a fine solo lp last year that I ain't got around to reviewin but has been told by the source himself they ain't to had no more, no ways. So that settles that. Hope anyone out there what's ken glints towards the core of a Sandy Bull galaxy was able to bring home a copy've 'Known Quantity' & burn it into their cranial cosmos. Now he's gone & put out this most excellent 7", 'Arrested For Decay'/'Sleepy Hands', again on Cord Art & it's easily my favorite little record thus far in this wee year. These two works spark 'n flare with Jesus Acedo like motif's, the harmonic's & melodies on both sides fan glowin embers've desert ragas that seem psychonautically informed via moments found within grooves one might encounter on the 1st Black Sun Ensemble lp. Even the sleeve art...looks...vaguely...Why, the whole thing is a goddamn Pyknotic conundrum I tell ya! Hand numbered edition of 350 & once the words out, not even the snappiest department store Santa'll have a chance at it. Available stateside at; & elsewhere via;

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Two-Won,One-Tood.....3 More Thoughts.

I'm one of them guys that just don't get no amusement out've the word, Penis. Yep, don't think it's funny, never have. So's bands like Afternoon Penis, or Broken Penis Orchestra, them releases got cursory listens & then was filed into one of my billions've 'no thanks' galaxies. Call me a prude, hey, call me whatever you's will. That said, I never thought Dick Urine was that funny either. In defense I'd admit to bein an avid Rudimentary Peni fan, as much for their music as the ridiculous latin turn-of-phrase.But them's salt's to be soaked another time, what I's tryin to get at is when this feller Fred told about an lp of careless Peugeot drivers from Mulhouse what call themselves Micro Penis, well, I didn't exactly get wood, if you catch my drift.But then it showed up,and,well.....I had to admire the Nick Blinko-esque artwork & packagin, but also wonderin that if I just ignored it, might I be (whew!) dodgin some Peni inspired crud-core bullet (low expectations 'n all). But a glimpse onto their 1 sheet & a spied reference to Cromagnon's "Ritual Feast Of The Libido" & then I was suddenly piqued. After all, if you's is pullin out them guns, you better not be hornswogglin. And thankfully it ain't. Sure, it's brimmin w/the inscrutable art brut, cut up, sound collage dadaistry so primitif & splendid in the current wave've contempo French underground (El G & Oso El Roto for example). But unlike them phlegm chewers, Micro Penis stay the path of "organic" aural lobe snippage (ala Cromagnon) w/o any use of standard musical templates, be it blues, rock're what have you. This dude just beltches up the gut gas, refluxes that're both psychedelic 'n psychotronic, like if Fille Qui Mousse's 'Trixie Stapleton 291' mugged it up with Hershel Gordon Lewis' 'Blood Feast'. It's hairy, improbable, preposterously deranged & just the slightest bit sinister enough to make you think "this can't be happening to me". Oh, but it is! The perfect aural influenza for your next slumber party, choke on it here; or direct to;

Lookin at this Work/Piles split lp I was wonderin how they's was able to afford such substandard Pettibon cover art. But then I realized it weren't his, or so it says in the insert. Truth be told, I was kind've relieved, as most of Ray's work what's not SST insinuated has been for some real less than lesser acts. And if a picture's worth a thousand words, well, I done got diarrhea of the mouth! Anyhows, it's the music what we's after, correct?. But, but, but…. Work is some (wait for it) out of work noise artists who I reckon thought they's could slum it as lo-fi No Wavers & it wouldn't surprise me none to find it's fooled some. Sure, it' got all the right trappings-short songs, punch, vim, vinegar, man, woman-but it just seems so obviously connect the dots that one can't help but laugh or ignore it. And I did, one after the other.
Piles is a 'nother kettle of fish, though I ain't sayin they's keepers. Same masculine/feminine dynamic (for lack of a better term) but an altogether stylistically hackneyed, going for it, outsider result; a snort've Billy Synth, a bump've Leslie Q, you get it, right? Gone is the days wheres I could listen to others thump a chest proclaimin which LQ lp was best. And then it was genuine appraisal, but it weren't no more interestin (to me) than Piles clumsy, organ chorglin enzymes that could. Or perhaps conjure up what you can recall from early Guv'ner, but nowadays a version most likely to inhale a burrito than inherit a trustfund.Ya hear me? But it's alls about who you know 'n like I said, there's some what's plum ecstatic by the tired warbles've both entries. And that's ok. They can feed the birds their way, I'll feed'em the truth. Ding! &

Been recievin more'n my share've emails from folks askin me my thoughts about Bill Orcutt's new lp. That & sendin me recaps've lengthy pastey-pie reviews & dandy doodle retorts. Shit, lookin at all the fancy name droppin & arid commentary, it kinda took me back to one of them Norman Mailer/Gore Vidal spats on David Susskind! That & them editorial hissy fits what Phillip Rahv 'n Delmore Schwartz'd get into at the Partisan Review. No matter high up the brow you get, it's never not entertainin.
But that's them. As for me, I'm sizin up 'A New Way To Pay Old Debts' from a number've angles, a somewhat modernized Pincer Movement you might say. First, it's hard not to give it a broad (yet accurate) stroke as Harry Pussy Unplugged. Cheap as that assessment might be, it's hard to deny.And what's wrong w/that? They was as formidable & broke down the genus of Rock as much as Blll does here to Blues (which begets____). Bearin that in mind, it's sort've like them Planet Of The Apes movies, you know, where the present is the future & you have to work backwards to see how it all came to pass. Right? Sounds good to me!
Or just dump it in the lap've Rabelais, THEE greatest satirist of all time. That same sort've reverse narrative skippers the Gargantua books. Ye, lest I get tangential, what I'm harpin on is whiles some of these string benders can be downright "Catholic" in technique 'n delivery, I sees this lp as an embodiment of the 'Do What Thou Wilt' sentiment expressed by Pantagruel & his buds. Some's find it astonishing. Me? I'm enlightened. And (at times) amused. Dr. Orcutt cuts a plucky rug as a regular goddamn Neo-Renaissance humanist. But I wouldn't expect anything less.
And there's the whole Archangel notion; various sacred pickers 'n players metaphored as Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Uriel (benders to halo's of your choosin), etc. Go ahead, call'em out; Fahey, Reichel, Bailey, Hopkins, it ain't like I's come up w/this on my own. Hell, (get it?), I'm taken ol' Bill here as Lucifer. Not that he's been cast out've nowhere, in fact, it would appear that the Huggers of Hollowbody Heaven can't behold him enough! But there's somethin devilish in the playin on this & you don't have to be no Father Merrin to hear them licks.
An that's alls I got to say on this tater. I know it's just a bunch've bugaboo, but ya gotta admit, it beats workin for a livin!
So dig this; A New Way To Pay Old Depts. It's a fine record, whether you get it or not.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

We'll Always Have Entebbe.....A Couple Reviews By An Old Friend!

Due to some matters of national importance (more or less), I's been called away to help keep our necks red, the majority white & beer blue. So's I have left this blog in the capable hands of my good friend & comrade, Olatunbosun Olabode. We's go way back, as I'm sure he'll prattle on about somewhere's in his meanderin.He's a mite on the jovial side too, but hell, what kinda sonofabitch would I be if I wrangled in a fella for laughin?, A no good one, that's what! Anyway, see you's on the flip & don't forget; Freut euch des Lebens!
Your Editor,
Roland Woodbe

Haha, a big HELLO all the readers of Roland Woodbe blog. Maybe you know, but Roland Woodbe is GREAT facilitator for contemporary sounds of music. For him to ask me to fill those shoes, I could not say no, but also cannot hope to walk many miles in them either. I will tread slowly & for this, I hope you can understand.
I 1st meet Mr. Woodbe many yrs ago in Kampala, Uganda, where we were both working (or in Woodbe's case, spying, haha!) in the court of His Excellency, Idi Amin Dada. I was an attaché to the Minister of Health, one Henry Kyemba. Mr. Woodbe befriended me (his grasp on the Nubian dialect is outstanding) & we shared many wonderful occasions back then. His Excellency at the time was far removed from the monster he would soon become. We used to love it when, in the wee hrs of morning, just before the break of dawn, Amin would rest his Johnny Walker & begin his series of hilarious impersonations. If I would close my eyes when he would do Ed Sullivan, I would feel like I was transported to CBS Studio 50, in New York City. Really, so perfect! And when he would play his little accordion & sing 'Wasted Day & Wasted Nights' in a Donald Duck accent, I could not see a dry eye in the palace. A very funny man. But his penchant for close talking (as well as mumbling & spittle) was the undoing. Yes, Amin was a close talker & his breath was abominable. Mr. Woodbe began to spread the rumor it was so because of cannibalism. It seemed funny at the time, but no one was laughing when heads began to roll. Perhaps it was so, I cannot substantiate the atrocities of a despot. I will go on record & say this-it would not have killed him to floss. But for a dear friend who advised His Excellency on doing so, he was not so fortunate. Amin explained the execution thusly " when you have no longer a head, flossing is the least of your worries". Roland Woodbe & I began our escape from Uganda immediately.
I am now employed as a taxi driver. By chance I was at Philadelphia Airport a few months ago when who should sit in my cab but this old friend! We were very much surprised to be in each other's company again, please believe this. He told me of the Siltbreeze label & this Siltblog & when I arrived him at the requested destination, he asked me to hold on & returned to my taxi w/a parcel of cd's & records for my ownership. Of course, I have become a fan of Siltbreeze, so many wonderful treasures from this imprint that have shaken my ears. If I were asked for favorite, I could only reply "THEM ALL", hahahaha!
But my friend Roland Woodbe said he might be compelled to call upon my services one day. I said of course & it was with this understanding I am now writing to you, his readers. I hope you will appreciate my contribution.

Olatunbosun Olabode
Camden, NJ 2010

I cannot say I have had the good fortune to come across the work of Mr. Leo Coomans in the past. He would seem to be a particle, almost a footnote to the Free Improvisation scene of the Low Countries by way of a discography (prior to this,participation on 1 lp + a 7"). So it has been with much enthusiasm that I have embraced his remarkable solo lp out now on the Ultra Eczema label, entitled 'Basement Recordings 1978-1982'. For many of the 80's I lived in Bay Area of Northern California & made the acquaintance of an astute record seller by the name of Rick Ballard. He would order me many different records of Improvisation & Jazz. I would say some of my favorites were from a label called Instant Composers Pool, which was based out of The Netherlands. One of the main participants, Han Bennink, seemed equal parts intensity & playfulness. His music incorporated not only the new jazzing stylings that were free, but also the minimalist experimentations of John Cage as well as the anti-art, Dadaist sentiments of the Fluxus movement. So a real everything-and-the-kitchen-sink cacaphony might ensue on his recordings. Or perhaps he & fellow collaborators would walk, talk, whistle, make sounds of wind whipping in motion,imbibe, play ping pong, or simply fall silent. It was all fair game & astonishingly great. And that holds true on this Leo Coomans record. As stated, these are private recordings from the artist dated 78-82 & his aural canvas is alive with great splotches of aerosol & voice, saxophones (tubed, soprano & baritone), saxphone mouthpieces, bath tub's, vacuum cleaners, it's accessories, harmonica,tape recorder, piano & more voice. Interestlingly, the 1st track, "Aerosol' sounds like mutant Stockhausen while the final cut, a ludicrous deconstruction of that tired standby, 'Louie, Louie', that makes the Half Japanese version (as smidgen as it is, hahahaha!) sound like John Philip Sousa in comparison. So you see, it begins in an inner space only to end in one that is outer.Or should I say, outre? HAHAHAHAHA, I don't care! This is a truly wonderful record, the work of a gifted, unbridled musician whose wit (& talent) runs the gamut of rapier to the absurd. Please contact the following mailorders for possibility of purchase, only 300 available worldwide; or & direct to;

And while my brain is full & conjuring up sounds within a jazz milieu I would like to say a few things on behalf of a greatly overlooked lp by Liquorball w/Steve Mackay entitled 'Evolutionary Squalor', self released by Grady Runyan on Rocketship Records. Hahahahahaha, no one can peg Liquorball as sounding like any one particular band. In the 90's they were able to dexterously walk over the coals of thud rock ('Fucks The Sky'), exude billowing plumes of carburetor ingested dronabinol ('Hauls Ass') or raise greasy, psychedelic hackles that resembled down syndrome Fushitsusha ('Live In Hitlers Bunker') to a small but dedicated following. The more things change, the more they stay the same as it would appear Liquorball is playing to their tried & true but I would like to say some words & maybe it might open certain ears & wallets. After all, membership has it's privileges, hahahahahaha!
Of course the main frame of reference on 'Evolutionary Squalor' is the participation of Steve Mackay. I'm sure Mr. Mackay is known to the readers here, so no need to state the obvious. What is interesting on this lp is how Mackay & Liquorball-with the help of Jason Biggs, Gordon Roberts & Conchobhar-corral a sound that insinuates (at once) Last Exit, (the French) Red Noise & Ray Russell. It is fusion, improvisation & progression all bearing down, all honking, quivering, shimmering & reverberating. As with the Leo Coomans lp, these are musicians who do not follow trends, but march & compose to the beat of their own ears & brains. It is quite mesmerizing, this 'Evolutionary Squalor'. And the name Liquorball…..hahahahahaha, I can think of some appropriate concoctions to go along with these aggressive lords of skronk. In fact, I have many times already brusied my hollow leg and lost my thinking cap while drinking generously from my stash of imported Wagari while spinning this. They say rum's don't kill people, banana's do. In the case of Wagari, it is both! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
Please feel welcome to buy this lp direct from or email to check availability.

Goodness, will you look at the time? I have a taxi to drive, so I must be on my way. Thanks to Mr. Roland Woodbe for letting me sit in, I hope you have enjoyed my two cents. See you in the rain, hahahahahahaha!

Monday, January 11, 2010

Mickey Goodmill Never Did This.....An Invisible Jukebox. Sort Of.

Whiles out on my morning jog (new years resolutions 'n alls) I came up on these 2 goobs just off East Lehigh & up Memphis what was sittin in a car huffin glue. Normally I wouldn't give 2 shits about this kinda thing, but the car was still runnin & as I got's right on'em I could clearly make out 'Summer Things'. They was blarin the Tyvek cd & gettin sauced! So bein an officer of the law like I sort've am- strictly rogue capacity on this-I flashed some offical lookin shit & scared they's little toasted noses almost plum off their muddled heads. But after I got my jollies funnin w/'em I invited'em back to do some record reviewin. I's jusy don't have it in me to breakdown alls these 7" records what's flooded in, so's let me introduce you's all to Doug Colson & Arch Clarrey, 2 of the Fishtown's finest.

Doug Colson-So whats youse got ta drink 'round here? (Opens the fridge, picks up a bottle of Chesterfield Ale) Oh look Arch, it's da Lord. Yo Roland, mind if we's helps ourselves?

SILTBREEZE MODERATOR-Not at all, my pleasure.

DC-(grabs & opens 2 beers, kicks closed the fridge w/the back of his foot) Your right (hands Clarrey a beer) it is your pleasure! (they laugh & fistbump each other)

SILTBLOG MODERATOR-Have a seat you two (Woodbe & the boys all sit around the kitchen table, then Woodbe goes over to turntable & play the 1st record).

Population 1280-Bedbugs/Times Square (self released)

Arch Clarrey-Oh dear, theres dat hulkin bass & spidery guitar. Somebody's got a Birthday Party record.

DC-Oh yea, 'cept nems vocals 'n lyrics is too serious. At least Nick Cave an Anita Lane wrote some funny songs. Absurd youse might say.

AC-Oh yea, nems is too serious for sure. On second thought, it's more like The Moodists. Like 'Thirsty's Callin', minus nems horns.

DC-Good one Arch (he reaches over table, they clink bottles), guy even sound like Dave Graney too. Youse know what else theys like? (Pauses, takes a long pull on his beer, sets it down & crosses hs arms) Inca Babies.

AC (almost does a spit take, recovers ) Oh my God Dougie, youse taken me back wit dat one (they high five each other)! Fuckin Inca Babies, jesus. Wow, nems is for the da ages dere, dey was like a Birthday Party Tribute band. Inca Babies….So Roland where's dis Population 1280 band from? Texas, like in the book?


AC/DC (in unison) Oh.

AC-In that case nems is totally original. Every band up dere is.

DC-Yea, nems bands up dere, well, what can youse say, it's the biggest suburb in New York. Play somethin from somewhere else. I ain't one much for suburbs.

Puffy Areolas-Lutzko Lives/Bowel Movement (Columbus Discount)

AC (listening close) I gots ta say, nems is totally unhinged. Is this on Mystic?

SILTBLOG MODERATOR-No, they're a current band, it's Puffy Areolas, from Ohio.

DC-Whose this Lutzko? Must be a Zombie or a biker or sumthin. It says "Lutzko Lives' like he was meant to be dead but ain't. I know a few of nems round here (laughs, fistbumps Clarrey)

AC-Yea, the singers got a creepy little voice, like Chuckie & nat one nat sings for Mentally Ill.

DC-Your right! It's a good tune, but this Bowel Movemnt one, deys lost me der.

AC- Could be about heroin? Or nems Dilaudids. Nems'll really bind ya up. Takin a dump is like heaven!

DC-Oh yea, could be, I sees what youse sayin. Yea, that voice made it sound sorta "inside", likes it was alls a joke. Raven it says….is he like Zackerly or the Ghoul?

SILTBLOG MODERATOR-Not exactly. He's sort've a cult hero to some. Psych guitar player, etc. Made a private press lp that's very big w/the Acid Archives crowd.

DC-Oh yea? Hey, youse drive me back overs to my place & I'll show youse some acid archives (much laughter, high fives & finger pistols abound)!

Pheromoans-Open For Business ep (Yakisakana)

DC (picks up the sleeve, has a long look, pulls on his beer, sighs) I reckon any British band what's gonna hiccup along the Country & Northern scheme've can't keeps but to sound like a little Link Wray & nems Falls. In a way nems Falls ruined it for everybody else, back in the day anyways. Theys was so unique & cut off from alls the rest over dere. Marchin to the beat of nems own drums 'n all.

AC (slides the sleeve over for a look, pushes it away) Yea, but these fellas ain't exactly like that is dey? I mean, nems got their own sound. It's kinda wobbly, kinda jerky, like a combo of speed & lager. Like a functional alchoholic methhead givin a presentation.Like Dougie here (laughs & zips a bottle cap across the room at DC).

DC-Oh yea (makes mock laughing face), well your Mom don't seem to have a problem w/it (laughs & points finger at Clarrey), least not last night no ways. But yea, I sees what Arch is sayin. Is it gonna be that every good band that steps sideways over there in England is gonna have to be called the new Fall? Fuck that! Nems Pheromoans got a good sound & sure, maybe nems owe a debt to MES & co., but then why not dissect every band whats listened to a Velvet Undergound record while we's at it? Or Beatles? Jesus H. Christ on the fuckin cross, let's just take it all back to Bill Haley & nems Comets. It's all their fault.

AC-Fuck the 50's! Yea, an fuck Richie Cunningham! Potsie…..I bet he sat on it every chance he got (laughs).

DC-(laughing) I got somethin Joanie can sit on right here (points both index fingers towards his crotch).

AC-I hear ya Dougie! (they fistbump).

The Get Offs-Airplane Fight/Drunk (no label)

AC-Hey, two things we's love to do (laughs), right Dougie?

DC-Oh yea. But nowadays, getting into an airplane fight's worse than sucker punchin a Giants fan at nems Eagles game.

AC-(takes in the 1st song) I like nems Get Offs. It's gotta super amateur sound on the Airplane Fight song for sure. Way mores hetero than Beat Happening, sorta like Pastels if they'd made a record for Rip Off.

DC (whistles loudly) Bravo Arch, youse really pulled one outta yr ass on dat one. I hear ya! The 'Drunk' song sounds like a mysterious Ron House band after Great Plains & before nems Slave Apartments.

AC (returning from fridge w/2 new bottles of beer) I'll drink to that! (they clink bottles).

Adam Payne-Maybelline Weeks ep (Malt Duck)

DC (listens intently as the 1st side plays through) Yo Roland, youse sayin this guy is from Residual Echoes?

SILTBLOG MODERATOR-Yes, but that was a while ago.

DC- I guess so! This is some real DIY pop goin on, like a bizarre cross between Flying Nun & SST.

AC-Oh yea, like nems Angst meets the Clean!

DC-It kinda blows whats all nems novice critics claimin alls these new bands is like the Clean. Most of it's pure shit, but youse gotta admit, on here Arch's got a valid claim.

AC-I ain't sayin I WANT it to be like that. But it is! Ain't no denyin it. Listen to that b-side, it's like he morphed Tally Ho 'n Oddity into one song.

DC-Well, I hear whats lots of kids is just now hearin some of that Flyin Nun stuff for the 1st time. But who's listenin to Angst nowadays?

AC-You mean besides you (winks, "shoots" Colson w/finger pistol)?

DC-Touche, douchebag. It ain't a bad record though, is it? Ain't the most original record I's ever heard, but hey, youse look at nems Clean & alls theys done. Nems is like the Marines, or 101st Airborne when it comes to pop music. This Adam Payne's more like…..the National Guard. It still defends!

AC-Or like one of nems rogue cops what gets his kicks harrassin plain ol' folks just tryin to have a good time. Like him (points at Roland Woodbe).

DC-Yea (breaks a beer bottle on the side of the table & waves it) maybe Mr. Undercover fuckin asshole here needs his fuckin ass kicked, right Arch? Wastin our mornin on this record bullshit….

SILTBLOG MODERATOR (Woodbe whips out a Glock 9mm pistol replete w/silencer & points it at the hoodlums) Let's wrap it up, whatya say fellas? Otherwise the only asses gettin kicked are gonna be the ones I shoot off your fuckin faces w/this pistol. Now get the fuck outta my house before I drop you's both & leave yr scag bodies to rot behind the Acme. Don't think this is a fuckin joke (RW aims pistol & cocks hammer. AC & DC run off the premises & down the street like they was shot out've a cannon. So much for singles roundup).

Moral Of This Story; Joggin is overrated. Join a gym. Or eat less or somethin. And not all glue sniffers is Tyvek fans. Some of'em prefer Eat Skull (Ding!) but I think that's more of a Kensington thing.

Saturday, January 09, 2010

When Big Things Happen On Little Records.....Some 7" Reviews

Examinin the insides of the Placenta Popeye/Reverse Mouth 7" I's seen where the 'Cent Pops was French so I reckoned I was in for some Dustbreeders like harshness. Not so, instead these merde slingers is more like a robust mirepoix of Dead C, Michio Kadotani Band & Sic Alps braisin talent dunt into ear dinner. Reverse Mouth also make some good aural zorp & w/ Cabaret Voltaire b-side elan, conjure up a séance where an immanent deity does a standup bit about Aleister Crowley's bad breath. Don't get too close! Entitled 'Baby Blues Kids' (the split itself, not that track) I really was expectin this to suck some serious Industrial ass, but it's pretty damn neat, so hooray. Numbered edition of 400, available through; ,

Remember how there was that whole Hawkwind trend w/bands in the 90's? No, too young you say? Well it happened & might still be goin on, I don't know. Don't get me wrong, it was fun-most of the time-but after a spell, it got tired. What? Whaddya call me? Sorry, I's got someone on my intercom askin me for money. If I was "in the field" I could just shoot'em, drop'em in a ditch & that'd be the end of it. But uh... where were we?
Oh, I gotta tell you's I was one happy psy-ops motherfucker when I got this Glitter Wizard, 'Black Lotus/Witch's Limbo' 7" in the mail & had me a big heap've Deep Purple blues rock explosion all over my turntable. Maybe you don't think Deep Purple is cool. But then if you knowed about half what I does, you'd be doin this blog instead of me. And w/that smidgen've knowledge, getting a brand new 7" what sounds like a sideways sonicstruction of 'Highway Star' b/w 'Maybe I'm A Leo' would be almost as boss as getting an eightball've coke & twin strippers for your 60th birthday. That's right. Listenin now, punk? Sure, I've heard talk've Monster Magnets, which reminds me; there weren't no bigger Monster Magnets than Deep Purple in their prime. Unless it's Glitter Wizard. NOW. I think we're done here. Now put that cock in your mouth & get back to work.

True Story; Someones picked up a copy of this 7" for me whiles they was on vacation down in Sydney, we're talkin 6-8 months ago. Now theys don't live here in the Fishown, or even Phila, but not so far away that they couldn't just send it in the mail . What would it cost, 3 bucks? But they never seemed to have an extra 3$ for their ol bud, Roland Seward Woodbe. Hell, theys even stopped around since, TOLD me about the record (& how they'd forgotten it, can you believe it?) & at that point I squeezed 5$ in their pauper paws & said "just send it". Come to find they spent that money on a Ped Egg (you can't make this stuff up). Theys was just stringin me along. So long story short; I finally got it (I even paid for the funeral)-& boy was it worth the wait! The ping pong male/female vocals IS Icarusly close to the Royal Trux sun, but Circle Pit's stripped away any Glimmer Twin worship from their hopped up trouble psych & its lead guitarist Angela Bermuda what fuels this fire w/gasoline. 'Total Waste' is a careening, reckless drive but it's the flip, 'Every Body Left' where the smell of buckshot & whiskey really permeates the landscape. An when she taps her foot onto that talent pedal, you just know their days as Koala petters is numbered. And from what Kevin Failure & Matt Horseshit has told me, the live spectacle's even more buff. Buckle up! Somebody oughta look into some distro on this'un, but quick.

Friday, January 08, 2010

If This Were A Guitwar, But Then Again, No.....Three New Ones!

I know this New Rock Syndicate lp's been around a while but that Rouber's lp got me all hot to check out more Japanese styling's so here I am. Excuse me for not bein no Matthew Perry, but I ain't been keepin up w/names, bands 'n side projects of all these players. I think the guitarist here, Kawakguchi Masami is/was in LSD March (at least) & the other fellers…so sorry, but I have no clue. Outta the gate this thing rings heavy w/Rallizes bells; that slow buildup that eventually explodes into a guitar solo meltdown, then comes back to expire. Okay! The next couple've tracks just seem like eastern blues workouts, nothin real pro or con to speak of. Like the Shinki Chen lp in a way w/less Duane Allman & more Alvin Lee bobble heads nodding in time. It's the b-side what really had me goin though. It's arguable if any other country has sallied forth as many string benders what's latent Hendrix acolytes as much as Japan & hey, that's a good thing. But hows most of'em have seen fit to bury this …..influence… whats tellin. There's a few real intense moments on 'Echo' where I was thinkin Masami was gonna really lay it down, but after a few growls & feedback grunts, well…..I guess what I'm sayin is the Hendrix vibe is there, it's just been displaced. It's like these guys decided to channel Jimi & Co. by way of a brace've mysterious Trower & Mahogany Rush bootlegs & that distillation is 'Cat Vs. Frog'. And I gotta couple've bro's that'll dig this just fine. Me? I reckon I need a few more thumbs runnin the fret. Available via;

Men who ain't afraid to be seen in public sportin midriff's might beg to differ, but I'm gonna give it to the French as the true purveyors of Prog Rock. Say what you will about Canterbury, Krautrock, blah, blah blah, at the end of the day you'll be tipplin Calvados & sweatin aspic like you was a Spam loaf come to life. The Gallic power of persuasion. And they's invented Musique Concrete too & ain't no flatass hiphugger's anywhere disputin that posit. Cause it ain't conjecture. It's truth. They did not however invent Punk, though it is their penchant to reinvent-theoretically-& lately they's been at the forefront of some Chrome damaged, post No Wave, syntho oriented destructo-blat that's as good as anything goin. So when a couple of them from there called Accident Du Travail decided to collaborate for a project of Ondes Martenot recordings (LOOK IT UP!-Capt'n Siltbreeze), I was expectin shards of wood & pearly keys bein strewn from here to Timbuktu. But paint my face 'n call me Marcel Marceau if this ain't a lovely & beautifully paced ep. Comprised of 24 minutes've lusterous hamonics as well as some tweaked melodies, this really taps into the cranium like a perfect bridge between Boulez & Lard Free. Great modal progressions too, hey, if this was as '75 as it sounds, you can bet your Birkenstocks it would've been on that NWW list. And if you didn't know it was members of Cheveu & Cradle Of Smurf whats behind this, well, you wouldn't know it. On a cold day like we got here, these sounds really warm up the room. Bruit Direct delivers another winner, hat's off to'em.

Not that you's was payin attention, but to get back to what I was sayin yesterday about the new Aussie scene, it's brimmin w/vitality & variation. So it seemed apropos to deliver the dirt on The Deadnotes, which is a trio what hail from Brisbane. They's got an lp entitled 'Orange Trumpet' that's come out on the Soft Abuse label what's a pickle & a half. 30 track's of playful, armchair whatsis, why I'd have tagged'em for a Melbourne band if I'd hadn't been clued in! Via trumpet, guitar, drums & occasional casio, these guys slice the staccato like ripe mangoes destined for a rum filled blender. Perhaps a sloppy nod to Laughing Clowns, a wink to Essendon Airport, maybe even an intuitive nudge to the drollery of Trevor Wishart & Steve Beresford as well. Anyway you's shake it, theys got plenty've pepper for the pot. Edition of 400, go to;

Thursday, January 07, 2010

Advanced Colouring, 2010 Style.....New V/A LP's from Albert's Basement

I can't speak for the youths of today, but not that long ago if one was to get embroiled in a jaw about Australian Punk & whathaveyou's, you'd more times than not find yrself listenin to gab about Radio Birdman, Saints, Scientists, Birthday Party, maybe even SPK if someone in the room was sportin leather jodhpurs. And there weren't nothin wrong (Grong?) about that, in fact, only a fool would deny any their high placement in a fanboy's peckin order. But the country's scene burned bright from all corners left of the dial, whether it bein the aforementioned or equally lethal, yet more obscure talents that lay just beneath the untamed savannah. The recent M Squared boxset released by Vinyl On Demand is a good example, but also great cd comps from recent yrs past such as Can't Stop It!, Murder Punk & Shakedown (to name a few) have archived/revived the shambling, twee, art damaged, erratic, eccentric, punk, post & puh sounds of yore, stitchin together a between the lines history of the continent's teeming cesspool of talent. And it's just kept rollin, I mean, the names have changed, but the OZ underground seems as formidable as ever. Tons've bands, lot's've small labels, hell, most is even takin the plunge & gettin vinyl out (again). So when I seen these 2 comps listed on the Tedium House site, I was more than intrigued. Released on an upstart label called Albert's Basement & documentin the vibrant Melbourne scene, they's simply called '02.06.07 & 'The Warm Cupboard'. The emphasis (on 02.06.07 esp.) is post twee, bedroom pop (recorded live to computer in said boudoir) of a distinct K variety, but the overall joi de vivre of the thing reminds me of old faves like 'Alive In The Living Room' & maybe even the X/pressway Pileup cassette, seein as how new & excitin all that seemed at the time. There's a fragile unsteadiness to all the performers,yet the needles get thread but good & the recording is standup for all. Not to cast stones, but as jinky as Extreme Wheeze's ode to Scrubs is, it don't come close to Meatus Murder's opus roast to said drama (just sayin is all. And givin props to Meatus Murder, I mean, who's talkin about them anymore?). If your go-to box've vinyl includes the early Go Betweens, Particles or Cannanes, yr gonna want this pronto. Comes in a cool, handpainted jacket, insert for followin along, all's that's missin is some vegan recipe cards.
Entry deux-The Warm Cupboard-is more posh in sound as well as contributors. At least on this one I knowed a few of the dropins ( Hi God People, Fabulous Diamonds at least). This one lacks the cuddly kitten cuteness of the previous release, but I think that's called variety. Since this one is tracks supplied by the various bands, it's an oddsbodikins of hoo's & howls. There's even a couple of pro soundin indie blingers that should have Pitchfork plinkers doin pecker pogo's when they discover this , on their own of course. Some cool instrumental swirls & squiggles via Free Choice & Aux Assembly that almost sound like they could've been culled from long lost Innocent Records masters & the last band, Bleak Infinity bring it all home w/some mangy blather that sounds like a Royal Trux/Magic Markers freestyle. And of course the tracks w/Hi God's & Fab D's. Perhaps not as ear poppin as the '02.06.07' one but no less entertainin. And the price is right, so why not spring for both? The cover on this'un ain't as bode neither, but the insert has hand drawn abstracts to keep'em individualized, so there.
Yep, lots doin in Lager Land & we'll see where Alberts Basement goes from here. One of these days I gotta get down theres & check it out for myself, but until then, it's ears only at;

or contact these vegemite nibblers direct at;

Wednesday, January 06, 2010

Sketches Of Spleen.....2 New LP's On The Milvia Son Label.

I would've sworn I reviewed the 1st Bad Drumlin Grass lp, An Invigorating Scent Of… a yr or so back but I'll be damned if I can find any proof to that. And now I can't find the dang lp nowheres but I gotta say, I liked it fine. The Grass is 2 fellers what play a mix of Takoma shimmer crossed w/an assortment've Woodstock rural rock so they ain't neither one (Fahey/Basho worship) nor the other (Dylan/Band/Happy Traum apologists)). That would be my broad stroke've what's doin on that debut. Hailin from the land of the vegan tweaker & useless PHD (Berkeley, Ca to the rest of us), BDG seems to be something of an anomaly in the bay area scene. Or so I reckon, hell I don't know everyone out there, but those I did ask didn't know who the fuck I was goin on about. I's told they are separated by a certain number've degrees from the Sublime Frequencies bunch too. Somethin about either buyin (or sellin) one're the other hash or a wife, or maybe it was bustin out one're the other from some ding dong Pacific island shitshack torture cell for said infraction(s). Alls I know is they gotta story & it sounds like a good one. But like a lot of things that pass through the portals of this blog, I'd all but forgotten'em. Then a box arrived not so long ago & it was new swag from the Grass & their flagship, Milvia Son Records. And shitfire & damnation if they ain't plied w/the gifts that keep on givin. And if you don't know what that is, pony up.
There's 2 lp's what come, them & a 7" that I's done misplaced (sorry fellers). The 1st one is another vinyl installment in the Bad Drumlin Sound saga entitled 'Live At Timber Cove' & it's a pretty big departure from that 'Invigorating Scent' lp. Side a is mastered at 45 & the ambient soar of the sidelong track ('The Expanding Universe') is as crisp as a duckskin wonton. The Drumlin's boys is well informed & have composed a deep & beautiful piece that channels the apex Canterbury prog moves of Quiet Sun , Fripp/Eno, as well as some Cluster love thrown in for good measure. The flip contines on in a similar vein though the narrative becomes more fraught 'n menacin, sort've like Far Out witchily coverin 'Set The Controls To The Heart Of The Sun'. And I grant you, that ain't nearly as gothed out as Psychic TV retellin the same tune, but dear reader, what would you have me say? I am simple man, born of a solitary gender & it has caused me no confusion whatsoever. I think the 1st book of Porridge would approve've the timbre & tension Bad Drumlin Grass convey on this track & let's face it, when the lights are out, we's all the same anyway. Or ….? 300 pressed, your gonna have to tune in to find out.
The other little engine that did was an lp from what I presumed to be outfit called Old Yeller & The Pigbites' but in truth is a lone plucker/singer by the name've Bob Frankford. And like the, uh, great visonary he must be, Bob seen his quest in true Blakeian enlightenment. Sez Bob "I wanted to sing & play like Dylan & I wanted to be all the original members of the Dead". And like the best taskmasters of the unhinged, what Bob attempted & what was achieved is 2 gloriously different things. Entitled 'Songs For Nadine', to my ears this dog runs right up there w/'Attic Demonstration', Prominent Disturbance, Peter J Cox's 'Running Away With Yourself', Parameter, any of the best artists inhabitin the Acid Archives. And true, it could all be a ruse, this bein the time of artifice & counterfeit weirdness (kudos to Boots/C.C./Snake & Remus). But I ain't Trevor Roper & this ain't the Hitler Diaries, so I ain't got no reputaton to stake. Alls I know is that the bread baked by Old Yeller & The Pigbites is warm & welcomin. Long may it rise. This is a small edition , 300 or so, might as well hit'em up direct at;
& be sure to order the 7" comp while yr at it. It's gotta be tippy too (now where the hell did I put that thing?).

Monday, January 04, 2010

The Duvel Made Me Do It.....New LP's By Preggy Peggy & The Lazy Babymakers + Glands Of External Secretion.

As cornball as it is, I's always had carried a fancy for them fatso jokes what was something to the effect that when so&so sat around the house they really SAT-AROUND-THE-HOUSE. But that's how I am. You can tickle w/me with a nickel & I'll laugh. So I reckon it ain't no surprise that a couple've releases by America's premier collagists what donk around the Chitlin Circuit for Cutups has me pinned & wheezin like a tubercular monkey huffin on a menthol air freshener. And I guess that they's have been embodied w/the Ultra Eczema imprint shouldn't be no shock neither. I can't say that I's been a stalwart supporter of the label (in that I don't own everything what's been released) but I don't think there's another contempo what's doin as fine a job when it comes to subsonic howls, buff packaging & an overall 101% singular aesthetic. Whether it's the eye poppin Brut brushwork, the brow bendin cut & paste or aural gnarl, Ultra Eczema is the perfect distillation of RRR subterfuge, Bananafish abstract chicanery & Chocolate Monk hodgepodge prowess. So like I was sayin, it weren't no major suprise when I seen lp's by Preggy Peggy & The Lazy Babymakers as well as Glands Of External Secretion was ripe for pluckin. Takin the plunge was easy, cause the sure thing is always my favorite wager.
Preggy Peggy & The Lazy Babymakers is some cads & a cadess what hail from around Boston & if your feet ain't completely flat, you's probably know more about'em than I. My intro was that I's was given a cd of theirs some time ago & boy what a glorious mess it was! Imagine a Smegma fan what was dropped on its head as a baby & thought 'Pigs For Lepers was, what-hell, I dunno-"Sgt. Peppers" or somethin. This lp called 'Get An Ace Case Of Measles' keep that, uh, Psychedelic wheelchair rollin along whiles also rainin clouds of hilarity down by way of cuckoo narratives, theatrical gabbery & an overall ellusive pastiche that explodes like globules of thorazine suppositories, creating whoozy, exploding, Zapruder-esque tapestries've ooze that will keep Pop-Yuk theorists contemporizing whether any of'em were ever really there (here?) or not (the wind whispers; "nooooo"). As for The Glands Of External Secretion, I'd be lyin if I said I weren't mostly curious about hearin the contrib of our headless leader, Tom Lax, on that 1st track. I knowed I had perused this earlier-when it was a cdr on the Oz label From The Same Mother- & didn't hear shit, but I reckoned the flora would've been flushed outta the fuzz when it come to vinyl enhancement. But I could no more make out his "cutlery" than I could the apparition of Toni Kukoc in the appendage of Michael Jordan when he pranced around in that underwear commercial back in the day. But no foul's been called. To be honest, if his clank had been too prominent, I'd probably never hear the end of it! Alls I know for sure is the Glands have plenty of glowin eggs in their radioactive basket on this "Meat Enhancement' lp. Things really hit the apex (for me anyways) on the 2nd track 'Sausage' when it sounds like a brace of Jedi light sabers crashing into orgone boxes that then opens up into an apocalyptic landfill where ravenous seagulls gnaw the broken capillaries out've yr cheeks while toothless sine-wave bums rifle yr pockets for sugar-lint. Surely your holdin, give it up! Seymour Glass & Babs Manning have concieved a minor masterpiece on this one. I'd pontificate more about it all but I got a spy plane to catch. I do know this; it's been a regular Goddamn treat to sit around the house these past few days lettin the luminuous aural snot 'n bile of Preggy Pegs & The Glands choot through my ears & around brain. May they forever diet of carcinogens & pass the gas of champions. Those what's curious try;
or go direct to;

I'd reckon these is in editions of 300 or less, so bray soonishly