Figures I's have to be up in Philadelphia just as a cold snap hits. If that weren't bad enough, twas impossible to book a room as the city is deluged w/conventions. There's the Coin Tossers ('Wishes Can Come True'), another for Airchair Quarterbacks (these guys know everything-later) & a Butt Smokers Smackdown (I think it's a pork cook off, but they's a lotta leather struttin around, so who knows?). So's I's got stuck 'n holed up at SBHQ where it's a balmy 50 degrees inside. Shit, I feel like Scott in the Antarctic. Fetch me my pemmican! And don't say no to old horseflesh neither. Can't....feel....fingers. Has....to....type....words. The sufferin one must endure when one's is the voice of the people.
Since I's been here-all 2 days now-only thing what's worked in this cave is a cassette deck. Which is odd as I don't recall it ever bein here before. I'll be damned, but somebody got religion. Ol' Capt'n Siltbird come around & back to the tape. Folks had been beratin him for yrs to get hip (again) to the format. But he's a stubborn salt, so's it must've been somethin special to get this setup goin. So I had to have a gander as to what he's been listenin to. Only thing I's could find was an empty case for Letha Rodman Melchior/Tretetam's 'Moon Mountain'. Which is exactly the same thing I's been playin on the way here 'n was all set to prattle on about today. Sometimes great minds think alike, ain't that a hoot?
Released on the expertly curated Robert & Leopold label, 'Moon Mountain' is a tip top construction what marries blips've collage finery, blaps've neo classical mood swings & blops've experimento DIY gastric discharge. It's aural murk is eerie, yet it begs a unavoidable allure. Ironically, at times it lit up the dimming bulb in my nog, flutterin the memory banks to remind me of another Melchior of yore. That one by HNAS. True, this ain't as overall screwy as that, but you get the picture, United Dairies wise. And when this delves into brief suites of forlorn serenity, it's as powerful as Yoran's 'Montparnasse' ep in makin both crocs 'n codgers bawl like babes. It ain't every day I's gonna wax on about no tape. But this is THE tape & in bein so, let us paraphase old man Krapp when we's ring out from our hearts 'Let it spool, let spool, let it spool'! Find it here;
*For more info on Letha's trials & tribulations in fighting the good fight, go here;
The phenomenon of the singin drummer.....you wonder how it came to be? Surely it ain't easy, what w/poundin away, keepin time + yammerin out all them memorized words. So's I guess that's why there's been so few in the game. Let's see what we got; Eagles, Carpenters, The Girls.....am I missin anybody? Be that as it may, there's only one band what fits this modus operandi that's got direct connections to Pep Lester, which means they's only a few degrees separated from drinkin out've a real live Velvet Underground punch bowl. And them's is known as Cheater Slicks.
Since the last days of Dr.J, this trio've sonic arsonists have been lightin up the landscape w/a combination of howlin abandon 'n pathological intensity which has charmed many a miscreant what stalk God's green earth. Look at'em; Wallet Chains, Wine Sniffers, Dirty Uggs, Cabbage Eaters, Beret Hats,Thesis Nuisances, more Wallet Chains....it's a gamut! Throughout the 90's the Slicks was a staple on In The Red, dishin out nuggets've fortified grit, some what's extended into zoner dirges where they's sounded like the Feelies meltin down in a meth lab. And if they got a mind, one could gnaw through an entire bucket've triple dipped fried chicken waitin for them bo's to bring it back 'round. Then who knows what happened, maybe ITR tried to feed'em a plate've snails, but like a modern day take on Cosimo Piavasco, they lit outta there & headed for the treetops, vowin to never again touch the cold concrete floor've some sad old garage for the rest've eternity. Which to my hearin, it's a promise what's been made good. The Cheater Slicks has a masterful life, one what's above the wretched excess. And like the aforementioned Baron In The Trees, the longer they's kept their distance from the mundane, the thicker 'n more ferocious their sound has become. And the world is a better place on that account. Comin hot off the heels of a 2nd volume of searin live grunt, 'Reality Is A Grape' is perhaps the Viola what's been waitin for all along. Go 'n snag a copy here; http://columbusdiscountrecords.com/
I's have had no end of folks contactin me to say this Best Of list is long on favorites 'n short on surprises. What can I say? Your catchin up, congratulations. We's come a long way from them salad days've 2006. Remember? Me leadin the way, you's all scared of the dark 'n teary eyed, still a babe in the woods. Didn't have no clue 'bout Afflicted Man, Eddy Current Suppression Ring, Billy Bao or Meatus Murder. Now look at you's; prancin around w/a turd in your pocket, actin like you been all up in it since the get-go. It's okay, shit, it's only music. And this is only a list. MY list. Sorry I can't lead y'all to no well as once upon a time.Back then you didn't have no record label. Now you do. And so do all your friends. 2006 was a long time ago. Lot's changed since. Most of the bands what was championed then has either gone into decline or belly up. Few have survived & among them, even less have prospered. One what's done both is Blues Control. From them early rollin vibes 1st heard on the 'Riverboat Styx' cassette up to this new lp (housed in a Euro type sleeve too-fancy), they's arc've progression has been phenomenal to behold. That ivory tinged, metal-blues tapestry (think barrelhouse UFO) what mystified many a pinetop last decade has slowly yet evenly been shed for a sound what's more coextensive to the work've of Conlon Nancarrow meshed w/any one of the ambient axe slingers over to Editions EG. If you can't dig it, that's fine. Maybe you's just too Punk for it all. So stay put & get back to me about Merchandise or whoever. Better yet, don't. Blues Control has showed that growin up in public can not only be tasteful but also admirably rewardin.'Valley Tangents' is just the latest ace up they's billowin sleeve of psychedelic trump. So when your ready for them big boy pants, you can get fitted here; http://www.dragcity.com/products/valley-tangents
It seems to me that the artists've BUFMS wreak havoc in a (more or less) insular universe.Or is it possible that as a citizen of the world & one what trods heavy upon it, maybe I just ain't bringin my A game? Haha, right! I do crack myself up sometimes. Now this ain't to say that BUFMS is some Shangri-La. Nor is it a musical Yoknapatawpha County or Biosphere 2. Okay, maybe it's kinda like Biosphere 2, I mean, I've done some diggin around & can't find no accurate data about who funds these releases. Smells like the Bass family to this old nose. Be that as it may, if Ed Bass (or whoever) wants to plunk down coin to see these records come to pass, more power to him/them. And if they want to raise goats 'n hens alongside, shit, sounds good to me, let's eat. Call Alice Waters! Maybe she can bring some frisee what was growed in the placenta of a miracle baby. She does go on, that woman.
Speakin of chickens, this Bren't Lewiis Ensemble ep's got a set've sunnyside eggs fryin up on the cover. An there's some slit in the whites, so's maybe it's makin a face. Sort've reminiscent of the background from the jacket've Ono's 'Machine's That Kill People'. Which makes sense as there's a cover of 'O Jackie O' on this dinger. As well as a spot on take've 'People' by Gods Gift. Now some like to prattle on about how cover songs is like leftovers. Could be, I knows I ain't one much for'em most times. (Covers that is. My leftovers will smack down your rightovers any day!). But like the Pablums or the Residents or Half Japanese (alls of whom share space w/BLE in this formidable wheelhouse) this bunch ain't chawin out straight up fan belts. They've intellectually consumed these tracks so many times-like a giant platter've cured offal 'n pickled crudite-that what they's has executed is supercharged new spins on them old classics. Like imagine the Mapo Tofu at Mission Chinese, replete w/kazoo's, tapes 'n guitars. My brain's already moist in anticipation! If you's as famished as moi, then get to http://www.tediumhouse.com/ post haste as ain't many was made & once it's off the menu, it's about as likely to come back as a tripe corndog is to fly.
*Be sure to check out Mission Chinese when in NY or SF; http://www.missionchinesefood.com/
*Ono's 'Machines That Kill People' is on the reish deck over to Priority Male too. It's blat've denatured bizarreness goes toe to toe w/Cromagnon's lp on ESP as one've the great noggin twisters of all time;
Every year to commemorate the Carnaval of Santiago, my Cuban buddy Fortunado constructs this enormous structure've hollowed out flan in his back yard 'n then invites bands what to come play inside. I's am always surprised the thing never gets ate down (at the end they's douse it w/brandy, then set it ablaze) but that's another story. So this time someone's called K-9 Sniffies & Roach Clip was the featured acts. Now I's have to come clean 'n say I didn't see neither of'em. Was way in the thick've of judgin a serious cachete taco eatin contest. And them Cristal's was goin down like water too. Plus anytime I gets close to that flan hut I just feel all custardy. No thanks! Word was theys was both top notch. Always a plus. Anyhow, at some point in the evenin I seen Fortunado's wife, Yanela, fannin herself w/this Roach Clip record. She looked pretty relaxed & maybe not a little too familiar w/the pitcher've sangria plopped down right in front've her. She spied me makin my way, stood, smiled & breathed a sigh of relief. "Ah, senor Woodbean, eh, the band, they want for you to have they record. So was for me to keep. My favor, you know? As music.......I am not so sure, but for, eh, ventilador, is most useful. Here", she thrust the record into my hand, "now is no more for me to look after. And I must go, wait for you has made me to starve. Lead me to the sesos! I can smell them frying. Or perhaps that is you, eh, Woodbutt"? With that she threw her head back 'n laughed. It sounded like a hyena bein impaled on a pike. Thank heavens she weren't much ever in a good mood. Them jollies'd curdle milk.
Despite Yanela's opinion, as music goes, this Roach Clip ep is a doozy. And w/a title like 'Al Pastor', is most prescient too. It's a rollickin ride through a panacea've frizzled audio crackle. Not unlike the Meat Puppets, 15 minutes after sheddin they's skin of the eponymous 1st lp but still burnt from that peyote scorch. Or maybe the Godz, lost somewhere in them 10 matrix numbers between 'Contact High' & 'Godz 2', sortin it out through a Dubonnet hookah. Either way you bake it what you's got here is sounds as crisp as a chicharron gordita.So let your ears inhale. Pony up at; http://www.fusetronsound.com/
If you need something to do to pass some time while you're waiting for your music download to finish up, check out some online games. There are several sites like Mecca Bingo and Crazy Monkey Games, where you can play a quick flash game to entertain yourself while waiting.