Third lp of outer-key futuristic psychedelia from these Portugese trance dealers. Let's say you snort a line've old fashioned mescaline off the ass of PK Dick; the euphoria is immediately transportable to an oozing discotheque shimmering in the glitter of C-Beams. Watch as Precog's bubble & melt. Who needs them anyway? It's the 21st Century, so no smoking! Besides, everyone's telling their cigarettes to shut up nowadays, I mean, IN THE FUTURE. Perky Pat Layouts might promise eternal life, but they're gonna need a soundtrack to sell it. What could be more suitable than 'Sensacao Do Principio'? Earth is blistering & this rocket only has room for 500, so get on board now. We're only making one trip. The Deliverer has spoken.
To celebrate the re-release of Times New Viking's debut lp 'Dig Yourself', we're offering up the lp for a discounted price (see below) for the rest of this month (that's October 2009 in case you read this in the future). The band is finishing up a European tour & will soon embark on a full blown US extravaganza, many of the dates featuring NZ's legendary AXEMEN playing in support. Check the band's respective MySpace pages for up to date touring info.
Hot on the heels of their great 7" for the Mt. St. Mtn. label is the debut longplayer from Mantles. If your at all familiar w/their 2 previous releases, then you know the Mantles have tapped into a Pop portal that infuses the swirling ballroom psychedelia of their SF forebearers as well as the post Velvets strum & jangle one might associate w/early releases found on the Flying Nun & Down There labels. This s/t lp features 10 tracks, a printed 2 sided lyric insert + free digital download card. The band has just also embarked on their 1st ever US tour, heading East in support of Ty Segall. You'll find dates & venue info below. Catch them if you can.
Tracklisting;
1-Disappearing Act 2-What We Do Matters 3-Look Away 4-James 5-Don't Lie 6-Burden 7-Testerday's Gone 8-Samantha 9-Bury Me Dead 10-Thin Reminder
You've admired the design on Matt Z's drum head, now wear it! That's right, Tyvek t-shirts, who'd have thunk? These are 100% Gildan heavy cotton, made in Haiti (believe it or not, people care). I have sizes small through extra large (that means medium & large are available too) & even 3-4 XXL ones. 1st come, 1st serve.
Gas is a Christchurch trio whose members have fronted/rocked some of that city's more key outer fringe bands (McGoohans, Scorched Earth Policy & The Shallows to name but three). Recorded between 1996 to 1998, the six tracks that make up 'Compressed Gas' are a heady mix of unspecified Nuggets era Garage/Psych meets the miasmic, Post Industrial streetwaves of Hearthan era Pere Ubu. Like I said, six tracks=fourteen minutes of music, edition of 300. If you can find a better deal, I'll buy you a cracker.
That's right, new shirts, this time for Der TPK, designed by bassist, Boy True. We only did a small batch of these, roughly 12 per size, so it's 1st come, 1st serve. White shirts, black silkscreened ink, pretty sharp if I do say so myself. Sizes are Small, Med., Large & XL. 100% cotton, made by Gildan. Prices are as follows;
Hardy-har, them folks up to De Stijl likes keepin it interestin. They's is distributin a 7" by a car full've clowns what's eager to pass themselves off as a misbegotten Fuck Off band called Kandalini Nivag Retsevi. Even went & copied the front've the 'Weird Noise' ep as a cover. It ain't all that bad've a reenactment neither. I mean, the fidelity on them Fuck Off (& related) tapes was pure crud, as is this, so if you's was to pitch it to me as '012 chewing through the Gong songbook' I'd be humored enough to work the count. As far as counterfeits go, this 3 dollar bill has some grit. And guess what? Only 200 pressed ( wow, what a suprise!-Capt'n Siltbreeze). Speculators go to; http://www.destijlrecs.com/ for more info.
There seems to be a new school've tadpoles out there what's readily searchin for & drinkin from the bilge pump've feedtime nowadays. But how many of'em can say they's cottoned to an lp by a band called 3 Toed Sloth? Relegated to history's dustbin as a 'feedtime offshoot' in actuality the only thing them bands shared was drummer Tom. Ok, the Sloth invoked a similar lapsarian rumba, but they's also sputtered along on an open plain what's only other antipodean inhabitants was maybe the Gordons. Existing for a minute in the early 90's, the band sallied on long enough to release one lp before makin themselves scarce. But like the bard said, 'you can't keep a good man down'. The fella what cracked the whip back then was one Andrew Robinson & not only is he armed w/a small load 've recently exhumed 3TS lp's, there's also a new imprint (called Great Dividing) & a couple've 7"ers for the hawkin as well. The 1st what I heard was via an outfilt called Exiles From Clowntown ( what'd you call me?-Capt'n Siltbreeze) & on one side they's graze in a pasture what's diabolic root has discordantly spread 'n become more the norm than the exception in corners've the current Oz fauna, right down to the rhetorical poetics. And the Exilers chew it like champs. The flip is one of them instumentals that thrive in the post, post VU sub-tropics of the southern hemisphere. It's strumble could best be articulated as traipsin over a 'bridge to nowhere', one where everybody from the Clean, X, Bilders, Eddy Current to Exiles From Clowntown have & continue to cross with remarkable elan. I'm takin a wild guess that arob is a Exiler & hell, for all I knows he may even be (or have been) a Mu Meson. I mean really, 5 years to complete a track? Anyways, it's finally seein the light've day on this split 7" & as such is now a collab w/another mysterious lunk what goes by soottyb. Entitled 'They Sent Me Into Space Today' them two exude some sci-fi percussive/synth bork that blot's yr ears like an extraterrestrial beam from a Jupiter moon. The other track is solo arob w/guitar + a field recording of Cicadas. I have found it to be a most befitting soundtrack for our evening ritual've muddling lime & mint in preparation for the pre prandial round've Mojito's. 'Nothin like a swarm of pestulance to herald in the evening cocktail hour' sez me. Indubitable at either 45 or 33 rpms too. Glug, glug, I'll drink to that! Not many of these was made, go to http://www.greatdividing.com/ for purchase & don't be afraid to pester Andrew about them 3 Toed Sloth lp's neither. It's worth your peep.
There's some've us what's been waitin eons for the Brits to get a leg up in the whatsis of current underground shenanigans. Shimmy Rivers And And Canal looked promisin but never followed through, them Pheromoans got the moxie & I'd bet they's just 7 (or 12) inches away from deliverin a satisfyin platter of pasty spew. Then outta nowhere comes a bunch what's called Please (not to be confused w/the polite, lisping boys've pop-psych legend) whose wriggle on this self released 10" is both rancid & snotty w/invasive thrusts that nose around yr business like some've the better Ron Johnson bands of yore (I'm thinkin the Shrubs or A Witness). Them bands (along w/the Membranes, Sperm Wails, Kilgore Trout, etc) created alot've distemper on Ol Blighty's shores in the late 80's & in fact they may be the last pertinent generation to make such a claim. I knows it don't sound as hot as callin'em the next Danny & The Dressmakers but likes I always say; what the hell do you know? Line up your go-carts here; http://www.ouse.org.uk/ or; mkasparis@yahoo.com
Excuse me for sayin so, but when I first got a gander've the goobs what make up Dead At 24 I thought I was lookin at a Speaking Canaries tribute band! And seein as how they's both (at one time) Pittsburgh related, it didn't seem like a stretch. But nerd glasses 'n pencil necks aside, that's where them comparisons end. Dead At 24 wears a rustbelt heart proudly on their collective sleeve; the name is a reference to Pete Laughner & his age of death + much've the musical vibe herein is pumped w/a pulsing heart of darkness. Lot's of the lyrics sort've remind me of one've the Klimek's too, I just ain't figured out which. From what I can glean (accordin to the 8 page booklet enclosed), this 'Blast Off Motherfucker!' lp was originally a cassette released in '96. I would've reckoned sooner as such a big gob've the b-side sounds painstakingly cut & pasted off've Dead C's DR 503 lp. But hey, even then there weren't a whole lot've Dead C worship, so I ain't gonna ride'em too hard for it. At least they wasn't sittin around aping Spacemen 3 (ding!). My fave track on here is 'Breakin My Heart Again' where's they crackle like a Culturcide bonfire surroundin a Christchurch garage what's been transported to the Flats've of Cleveland. The rest.....let me say that for the most part I'm charmed by their nascent hubris & determination. Plus I think it's great someone gave the green-light to this as a worthy vinyl artifact ( much like that Lames one sided deal released last decade) even if it's 10+ yrs after the fact. I'm guessin their Theiner connection's was slim at best, but hey, PGH is only big enough for one dweeb at a time to parade around in a Ramleh t-shirt, so whatya gonna do? 300 pressed, check; http://www.ridethesnakerecords.com/
With the notable exception of 2 entries penned by tea-steepers, I have seen nary a smidgeon've ink spilt on behalf of this outstanding tub've left field hash slung by a here-to-for unknown assortment've egg pounders what called themselves the Butte County Free Music Society. But I ain't surprised by the crickets. After all, what widdle bwoggers out there in internetland today would have a 1st hand inkling as to Bananafish Magazine, which in true Bizarro World style is the reverse genesis for it's existence? And even if they had clue, the dissemination is fairly dense. The participants in this art/noise/theater/kitchen sink production is about as tight lipped 'n secretive as a posse've Masons bidding in a goat auction. But I's always liked a challenge (as well as knowin my ass from elbow) which is why I suspect I was eventually ushered into the B-Fish fold by a certain I. Vern Beezer for the last few issues've that illustrious magazine's run. But it weren't like I got the secret handshake or keys to the temple. No, all's I got was piles of shitty cd's & cdr's to rail about! But it was invigorating nonetheless. Pffft, will you look at me? In full digression, my apologies to you all. Why don't we get off here & see how many ways we can skin this cat....... Let's take a trip to Chico, Ca.Home to a state university, I'd wager it's undoubtedly the core reason this group've fiddlestickers was able ferret each other's out; they was there to be learned.If you's go to your olde tyme record collection it ain't likely you'd pull out much vinyl from Chico in this era (circa 83-84). Obviously there was plenty goin on, but unlike their erstwhile sympatico's to the south (LAFMS), this group seen fit to keep their hijinx on the down-low. Sure, Babs Manning would get the 28th Day goin, but outside've that, what'm I missin? I did spent a bit've time there around that period (as a laborer in orchards & whatnot) & I can tell you that it was mostly a town filled w/cowboy types, stoners, frat dorks & simliar dunderheads. So it's nice to know that buried within the confines of the ubiqitous pecan & fruit tree groves was a small but thrivin bastion of lasciviously insatiable insanity what seems a cross've (free deformed) Harrad Experiment meets (Cali version) Yoknapatawpha County.I remember an ad once what read 'LAFs do occur at laf-ms', so I imagine a fair amount've the same kind've pone bein baked here; BUFs buf-msing (say whaaaaaaat?-Capt'n S/Breeze) for the sake've snoots & snorts. And sure enough it's all splayed out here for them ears've yrs to have a gander, 4 lp's, a cd + a mess've full color inserts (poster too!) what to assemble the pieces & participants. To me it's a testament to the beauty of margins & more so, the marginality of the avant garde, underground or whatever you wanna label it. I don't think the BUMFS thought it out like the LAFMS, or rather, weren't as whole hog artistically driven for posterity. I ain't criticizin, hell, no one gave much of a shit about LA Free Music releases in the mid 80's so it ain't like BUMFS was gonna use that business acumen as a template for spreadin their withering infestation. For yrs this was all documented & passed around on cassettes, maybe a dozen or so people worldwide havin any knowledge or interest in it's contents. Which makes sense, given the time frame. I mean, it's pretty of-the-moment, sometimes it works & sometimes it.....works harder.Personally, I wish I knowed more about Hypnagogic Jerk. Them two toxic hummingbirds could sputter 'n pollinate the stamen's of my brainfield all day long! And that's just a tip of this collection. There's lot's on here to decipher & I think that whoever decided put up the coin to see it compiled & released was doin the Lord's work. I suppose if I had to make a comparison to something on the LAFMS discography-to keep the pikers happy & maybe even move a unit of this're two-I'd have to say it saddles right up there w/the Lightbulb Emergency 2xcassette sampler what come out towards the end've that collective's imprint. Them two tapes was my only companions for 3 cross country trips back in the day & I wouldn't have had it any other way. Left a lot've casualties in it's wake too. I expect the same from this box've records & cd as I prepare for a river ride which is to commence on Thursday. My rock barge (named the USS Miss Monroe) is all loaded up & what's waitin for me at a private dock I has in Martins Ferry, Oh. If any of you's live on the banks from there on down to New Orleans & by chance hear a weird or befuddlin storm comin outta the night, well.....that'd just be the likes of Bren't Lewiis, Walking Jock, Conduits & an a cadre've others croonin off my hi-fi, tryin to charm you into the muddy arms of the undertow. And don't worry about leavin behind no dryin off towel. There'll be no comin outta the water this time. The Induced Musical Spasticity of BUMFS......25 years of the dip that keeps on dipping, finally & forever. Distro on this dude is scant, try; weirdo@weirdorecords.com or phreexch@comcast.net
The latest outfit to pony up & stir-fry outta the lo-fi wok is from Davis, Ca & calls themselves Green Green. Predictably there's nothing remarkable about it, unless you's think RTFO Bandwagon deserve a Northern California Appreciation Chapter. If that's the case, do you's also think that your parents was two dogs who fucked each other in the ass & a puppy popped out? Well....do you? Comes w/a little band pin I'll never sport, but ain't lost. Yet. 300 of these, collectors go to; www.myspace.com/ggreenz
Around 10 yrs ago or so, the whole New Weird America was in full throttle, perhaps the last generation of mongrels to possess an inkling of 1st degree knowledge of punk, improv & prog before they's was all ground up together in the grinder. Interestingly, it was said dunces what spun the crank, thereby creatin a bleak musical smorgasbord of amateurism in the form of little cdr patties as well as elaborately constructed cassettes molds & other vacuous whatnot. But enough of that diatribe, my point is how's now there's some've them Kabobs what's reinvented themselves from the New Weird to somethin more akin to the Old Weird, thereby makin'em New Old Weird American Americans. D. Charles Speer & The Helix is part've of this sect, if not it's leading voice what w/a couple lp's & now this 7" under their collective belts. And as such, they warmly embrace the music/stylings of the original denizens 'n patrons w/rich & harmonious flair. On this little fella Mr. Speer & Co. unwind w/some rural rock ala post Band frolic that on one side ('In Madagascar') tugs on the beard've Levon Helm & on the flip ('Bar-Abbas Blues') pats the fanny've Robbie Robertson. I used to have a shirt what said, 'Big Pink Was Not A Myth' & here you's got more proof for the pudding. Purchase this at; http://www.fusetronsound.com/
Dan Melchior has been much in demand this yr & like any solid mercenary, he delivers w/force & thunder. Without a doubt one of my favorite tracks've to date is his (apropos) menacing ode 'Post Office Line', haha, just the organ refain itself has enough lethal rounds in it to take out an entire station. This latest offering via Dull Knife is no slouch neither, 'Terrible Shame' bein absorbed in similiarly resigned, post psychedelic/hangover clarity as any've the outstanding tracks what can be found on the last V-3/Jim Shepard releases (atwixt 'Pimping In The 90's & 'Motorcycle Movie'). 'Ghost Of A Flea, Pt. 2' doesn't knock on the door so much as kicks it down & while it might jog my memory as a modern day companion to Flipper's 'Old Lady' dirge, unlike Shatter & co.-who liked to bully from a safe distance-Dan make it abundantly clear he's in the house to rob the men & fuck the women. Or is it the other way around? Either way I'm given the guy a wide berth! Another one what's 300, find out more from; http://www.dullkniferecords.com/
Mr Pumice is a fella what's something of a pleasant enigma. By that I mean in the post X/pressway, post Gate breeding kennels've New Zealand noise rock pups, Mr. P seems to be the only one what's no longer exclusively bein weened on the lathe cut teets of the perpetually nursing Geraldine bitch. He's actually gettin pressed up on regular vinyl! How many to date I cannot say, but this new split w/Grouper has just arrived & his entry ('Twin Neck Double Kick Bum Chin') is classic; a detached sci fi sea shanty, enveloped in fog, rockin against the winter waves & peppered by a sharp,salty, sea air. What was once South Island vices is now become North Island habits, but Pumice is by no means a counterfeit of those what was brewin up afore, ney, his grok is more a distended homogenization of all what's been chuffy & left of the dial from the Andband down & counting. Grouper also deliver w/a haunting number lost in the mist. Stunningly elegiac, it's hard to know if she's waving or drowning.If I's ever get to hear them Mary Briefcase records I only hope they deliver a fraction of the same beauty. http://www.softabuse.com/
Bill Orcutt might be the closest thing we's got to a underground rock version of Tommy Pynchon. Ain't no one's seen him in an age, a statistic (or whatever) he likes just fine. And of course there's the stories; how he moved to the Ukraine & started a school what teaches bears to play hockey. Or the one about him livin in the Congo & bein an arms dealer. And I don't mean weapons neither, I mean real life arms! Who'd buy such a thing? I reckon there's nothin wrong w/keepin your audience mystified, no matter how bizarre or gruesome the conjurin. And every now & again he takes time off doin Lord knows what to release a record, the task of findin a copy bein no small feat neither. The one what come around for a minute a few yrs back was as ambiguous as his day to day & while I found it confoundingly charmin then, I can't claim that it has left much of an imprint now. But I doubt I'll be sayin that about this new one what's called 'High Waisted/Big Ass Nails'. You might think upon 1st listen that Bill's slingin w/one of them dagger's he wielded so perilously in Harry Pussy, but stick your neck out a little further & you'sll realize he's forged a whole new scimitar which has done cut off your head. At that moment of impact them ears'll ring w/a hum've cacaphonous fuzz, then a mass've guitar rush w/the gust've Antennae Jimmy Semens + fury've of Saharan string mangler Doueh will flood over your nimble brain. And suddenly, almost as abruptly as it began, it is over. Except now friend..... you will eat no more hotdogs. The chopping block only has room for 100, line up here; http://www.fusetronsound.com/ & http://www.mimaroglumusicsales.com/
It's been a while & let me tell you's, I can't recall a time when the old maxim, 'better late than never' EVER had a more literal (& profound) resonance. See, I done went & got burnt out on all this underground rock nonsense. It all's got to soundin more or less the same. I wish I could say for the good, but to be honest, it was more for the worst. Writin (or criticizin) on a blog weren't gonna change anything, but that's hardly a news flash. I reckon I just figured my time & efforts would be better served doin another kind've work. An old Saigon buddy of mine, a Swiss fella by the name of Aldo Gygax told me about some opportunities w/him up to Chomolungma (or Mount Everest as it's known to westerners) & if that ain't gettin away from it all, I don't know what is! So off I went. Aldo got me set up in Jiri (my sincere thanks to my host's there, Dawa & Chopel) & once I got to the hang of things, I made the trek over to Lukla to begin my apprenticeship. Once that was learnt I was assigned to South Base Camp, ostensibly to work w/the Sherpa's settin to fixed ropes & whatnot for climbers to begin their ascent's to destiny. But I reckon Aldo had other ideas for me. Next thing I knowed, I was put in change of makeshift 'Tea House' & cookin food for the various trekkers what was passin through. It weren't what I was expectin (or hoped for), but you either learn how to hit the curveball or you go down swingin. And no one love's a curveball more than ol' Roland Woodbe. The Gygax plan was "Grande western gastro grub far east of the Pecos', an idea which made no sense given our scenario. But Aldo had went & done a thesis on James Cloyd Bowman after 'Nam so he was all the time goin on about Pecos Bill & Slue-Foot Sue, so it was thematic if nothing else (what's up w/the Swiss & old west folklore?). I figured it was also a by-product of his "crops"-this food servin bein a "front" if you will- what he growed in Katmandu, but that weren't a topic we's talked about, if you catch my drift. Whatever the basis, it turned out to be a most lucrative proposition. You ask anyone what's ate at the Lasso Lounge (nothin more than some canvas, wood & tin but it's design woulda given Frank Gehry a boner) up the Southeast Ridge just this side've the Western Cwm & I bet you's they's will talk a blue streak about the Bronco burgers (ground yak meat) seared in gee (not to mention the Tornader Tots, Tibetan tubers bein about the best on this planet!). I had this one Sherpa guy by the name of Katu what was just about the fastest line cook I's ever seen. He really did get the hang of things pdq. The bread up there ain't much to speak of (it's fried rather than baked), so we didn't have a sandwich as you'd get 'round these parts. But you put a fried egg on one of them dudes & you could just about write yourself a ticket to anywhere in this universe! Talk about a hit, hell, them French & Japanese (especially) would be mountaineers just about shit themselves when they got a taste of what we's turned out. Not that I was countin, but I reckon the Lasso was probably most liable for more climbers comin up, piggin out, then gettin off than any from frostbite or lack of oxygen. Shit, I'd like to think we was savin lives in a few instances! You should see some of these goobs what think's they's is gonna be the next Edmund Hillary. I've seen more qualified lookin pindicks on the Epic Theatre Blog. All's I can say about it is this; if a burger & fries (at 17,000+ ft) is enough to entice a peckerwood outta climin the world's highest mountain (this is w/the 25K done spent on a permit too), well.....can I cook or can I cook? But that life got tiresome, so dull in fact that when I got a cdr from Mr. Siltbreeze w/tracks've some of the new stuff that had been floodin in for my perusal, it got my radar piqued. I'd seen my share of frozen toes & blackened noses.And the level of entitlement these hikers permeate, even the most wizened servers & bartenders would howl w/derision (sauce on the side is the least of it up there, pal). I said goodbye to my staff (I esp. miss Mida, what a pistol she was!), hiked back down to Lukla for the rest of my belongings & began my epic journey back to the Fishtown of Philadelphia. And here I am, behind this keyboard one more time. It's funny what you miss, especially what don't come to the forefront of your mind. And I don't mean that new Psychedelic Horseshit 12"either, though it is sweet. I just ate me a pint of fresh picked strawberries & all the overpriced/hyped Mexican Summer records out there COMBINED couldn't compare to something as simple & delicious. What with this music & food comparison's, I think I'm finally startin to acclimate myself back into the tenure of Siltblog. Am I stoked? Probably not as much as you are Hoss, but then I'd be lyin if I said I don't appreciate bein appreciated. So w/that in mind, let's see if I can sniff some truffles outta this mess.
I did enjoy the Mantles debut 7" ep what was released a yr or so back, a demure yet solid grower spiked w/pop-psych moves that seemed germinated as much from early Chills as it did Kendra era Dream Syndicate. This new one on the Mt. St. Mtn. label keeps that notion locked 'n loaded, however on these 2 fantastic cuts there's a breezy 'n original confidence that is undeniable, which is to say these guys (& gal) are as much a contemporary distillation of the sassiest moments found on the Velvet's 3rd lp as them aformentioned influences was in their nascent endeavors. At the risk of soundin maudlin, there ain't many little records comin out these days I care to give more than a cursory listen to, but this one I keep playin over & over. To my ears it's about as close to perfect as you can get. 300 was pressed, check it out via mtstmtn@hotmail.com & dig the band at www.myspace.com/mantles
Another burst of 45 rpm brilliance is this mindblowgly great 1 sided gem (via Columbus Discout Records) from the lost archives of Jim Shepard entitled 'The Voices Of Men'. With assistance from Roxanne Newman & Nudge Squidfish I'm thinkin this might've been a V-3 outtake cut around the same time as them tracks on the 'Earth Muffin' ep. It's got Jim's tenorous gallows wit 'n lyrics splached onto some highly diggable Eno-esque musical twitter, imagine a pre-apocalyptic interpretation of 'The Third Wheel' & just in case you ain't sold, there's some Rev. Jim Jones heralding tacked onto the end for further dark,comic effect. Jeez....I tell ya, there ain't a day goes by I don't miss that fucker. But I ain't gonna eulogize, hat's off to the CDR crew for findin this beaut & pressin it up. What's more, it's free. Shepard would've loved that! (NOTE-This record is no longer available).
Matt Korvette ain't afraid to chort about his enthusiasm for the contempo dark/cold/goth/techno aktion what's ragin across Europe. In fact, he's put his money where his mouth is & released 'Right Thant', a willfully under-the-radar 7" of electro/industrial-ized wave that would seem to be an estimable calling card into the plethora of club thumping genre benders.And as the groups therein seem fueled by limited edition releases (& 7"ers in particular) then Herr Korvette's entry fit's like 3 shots've Jager into a highly combustible shaker've German Leg Spreader. For some reason I feel encouraged to mention Haus Arafna & their doppeganger November Novelet, but then I'm liable to get light-headed alot sooner now than in the day's of yore. Maybe yr pipe is filled w/stronger smoke. I was told this was ONLY available for the asking (ie, no distro), so if curious, you could do worse than chime up here; whitedenim@gmail.com
Comin outta nowhere is this shimmering nova of blissful folk-psych from the leading voice of the Newe Detroite (?), Aran Ruth. I gotta admit, she cut me off at the knees, what I know about her (& this Newe scene) wouldn't fill the paper on a hit've blotter, but wow, I sure am willing to change all that right here 'n now! Ruth ably summons a voice & ethereal aura not unlike Linda Perhacs & while it may not play as vocally zonked as the tastier cuts on 'Parallelograms', the 3 tracks on this 7" ep are still pretty tranfixing stuff. Even a tune as seemingly 'straight up' as 'Cast Your Ship Upon Rain' is so coddlingly lysergic it feels like 4am no matter what time've day it's played. And the flip delivers the goods as well, this time dressed in wisps, hums & echoes of practically kosmische design. Comes in a lovingly handmade jacket, penned w/all the baffling geometric artful whatsis once attributed to the El Saturn style. What a treat. Try www.myspace.com/aranruthsmusicpage for more info.
Someone told me I'd like this Pheromoans record on account of how much they's resembled The Fall. Seein as how this person was someone what knowed me, I assumed they meant that once great band durin their formative yrs on Step Forward. But whatever, I don't hear it, nor did it strike me that these guys shared anything w/The Fall outside of a shambling nature. The one track, 'The Man Who Wolf Whistled' has a kind've NWRA drum patter but I couldn't follow the gist of the muttered narration-which resembled a halfhearted Shadow Ring at best-so I zoned out & dreamt instead of cold kidney pie & warm imperial ale. The flipside started out nicely, 'Revamper' bein a splendid discharge of DIY gurp ala Different I's, you know, goin nowhere fast & lovin every step. 'Penis Envy 96' breaks off from there but only runs headlong into a thicket of Country Teasers like bramble. I dunno, can't says it's neither to condemn nor condone. They's certainly got the right foundation to be a contender & Matt Z from Tyvek says they's a good band live. And who am I to argue w/the inventor of Ass Rocks? Stateside find this at; http://www.s-srecords.com/ & for further info; www.myspace.com/pheromoans
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.
