TROIA = Pascal Deweze + Helder Deploige + Sjoerd Bruil

Staying with the Jezus Factory crew, picked this up along with the Stovepipe and the rather nifty PerW/Trouve cassette. On a limited issue tape press, just 50 all in, this is TROIA = Pascal Deweze + Helder Deploige + Sjoerd Bruil with, what we are assuming to be, their self titled debut full length release. Now this is quite wiggy and noodling, no information attaching here alas, one thing that is obvious first encounter, is that these dudes have a thing for the funk struck quirky weird ear for ‘TROIA theme’, currently looming on the band camp preview page, is a stupidly cool mutant moocher which on initial introductions almost had us bagging this in the Legendary Pink Dots box all of which we’d
have happily done and been done with that. However the more you listen, and yes the LPD influence still strangely looms only larger so, then that improvisional grooving craftily freewheels all the time oiled by a connected musicianship who, obviously in the flow and in the moment are happily blissed and all drawing from some hidden hive understanding, the result of which, the further you scratch and immerse in their craft, the deeper you fall in its rabbit hole thinking is there a Zappa like thing cooking here. Ridiculously essential.

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Expect a full review of this, once that is, we’ve remedied a tiny glitch, Monday or Tuesday judging by things. Trying to squeeze this in between dampcourse and decorating, so as you can imagine, the usually sedate listening room is in a whirl of chaos at the moment. Anyhow, this be Stovepipe who describe themselves in passing as ‘groovy soulful rock’n’roll ghoulies’, with an incoming four track 7 inch heading out through Jezus Factory shortly, a label who at present, appear to be going through an ear hugging sonic purple patch of late. As said, we’ll be all over the 7 inch release in a day or so, for now a rewired remix of ‘born to love’ to open the account. One of those cuts that’s coolly crafted and coded with a subtle low level itchy infectiousness, the sparse and minimal post punk angulars and the pressing earthbeat rhythmic’s collide and converge to forge and fuse a joyous schism of optimism and acutely trippy floor groove that slyly strays, hiccups and slinks into softly hazy psychedelic terrains, something which I’m minded to say, ought to chime with folk admiring of both a C-81 era A Certain Ratio and Was (not Was).

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Here’s a little something appealingly odd and strangely off the wall, sneaked out on the Miracle Pond imprint where you can grab it cheap while you purchase your must have Polypores tape. There’s just 40 of these left, well 39 to be more precise, given I bagged one while rescuing an aforementioned Polypores treat, Prufrock feature Dolly Dolly and Steve, it gets creepy when I tell that Steve is the musical one and that the accompanying Dolly Dolly is a poet who may well be, but keep it to yourself as we don’t want to freak out the kids with the floppy fringes, a dolly dolly (of course we are messing with your heads, its that chap from the extended Buried Treasure collective). Whatever the case, surrealism and deep psychosis’ aside, Prufrock occupy a genre free wilderness, like where om earth do you place this, if indeed safe little musical tick boxes are your chosen bag. ‘Liquorice Fish’ features four curiously abstract accounts, its stagecraft borne partly of musical hall and theatre is absorbed in dream like streams of narrative consciousness, opening cut ‘Chip Shop’, much like a sea side promenade Church sermon is peculiarised by cut up realities and Lear-ish abstract, it’s all very puzzling and welcoming so, though squirmed in a hallucinogenic distraction that recalls the off the wall narrative of Dalmatian Rex and the Eigentones. The criminally brief and eccentric ‘liquorice Fish’ is better still, its dinked medieval musing and theatrical tethering sitting somewhere a brief monologue scribed by either Vivian Stanshall and Keith Michell. Somewhere else, ‘LDN Pleasures’ provides something of a Dylan Thomas-esque monologue on the joys and sorrows of a casual about your way capital life while the parting ‘Staircases’, incidentally the lengthiest track here, is moored to a waltzing sinister chamber chill that’s not unlike the punctuating piano scapes used to adore old silent black n’ white films, the narrative / prose jagged and twisted seemingly having the effect of a sliding carpet underfoot, has you constantly displaced in your attempt to make safe sense of the darkening imagery rising like industrial smog conspiring to spirit you away.

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TIIF 2019

Sneaking up on our radar earlier today, the last release for this year at least, from the self described ‘small record label for future music’ This is it Forever imprint, a free to download / name your price compilation titled ‘TIIF 2019’ that gathers together a host of cuts from the likes of worriedaboutsatan, field lines cartographer, polypores, veins full of static, umber and Gavin Miller. Not one of those hastily thrown together sets, indeed there’s not a duff cut in the house with each of the invitees stepping up to the plate to deliver to their full potential, both Umber and Veins full of Static in particular, previously unknown to us (if our memory and ears serve well) both turning in performances that’ll guarantee our keen eyed radar will be rippled in expectancy about future happenings all of which, with that in mind, we’ll begin this particular missive by mentioning. Veins Full of Static, alas no further information, come cut with a bruised neo classical pedigree, desirably intimate and sorrowfully shouldered in a withdrawn mournful, ‘and when I turned back he was gone’ is touched by a desperate dappling that fixes you firm in its narrative. Graced in choral falls and hollowed with a ghosting ‘what if ‘silence, an onset of unravelling reflective decay drizzles the haunted loneliness. No slouches in the repeat listening department, Umber’s ‘every corner of a new day’ arrives bathed in radiant sprays of new dawn rising call signs all of which serve to daub it with a ice chimed celebratory context, a celestial plucked straight from the stars far above which amid the slow settling layering of ethereal eddies, a tearful though inner warming jubilance emanates. Next up, a brace from Gavin Miller with both ‘3 days (fourth)’ and ‘we stood lke statues’ being plucked from previously released TIIF outings earlier this year, the former immaculately steeled with a reflective sculpturing which once freed of its pausing genteel upon its opining arrival, sweetly soars skywards traced with the kind of contemplative quiet free spirited solitary stature more becoming of Yellow6. As for ‘we stood like statues’ very Gnac like I must admit, (who on the subject of which, might be popping up here a little later in a differing form at least), it’s all to do with that coolly affixed rain drizzled after hours spy theme noir-ism that ghosts its grooves. In his worriedaboutsatan alter ego, Miller serves up two exclusive nuggets in the guise of ‘falling in slow motion’ and ‘there is no bonfire’, the former a hypno-grooved techno lite doozy sprayed in pulsing cosmica radiance all superbly crafted and chivvied in a mind roving back to Detroit discipling. As to ‘there is no bonfire’ a brooding proto epic grounded with a steely and hollowed wide screen weary that manages to walk between the finite corridors that divide nightmare and dream all equipped with a subtle darkly cloaked shadowy beauty. Having just concluded a perfect year of releases with outings for Miracle Pond (a limited cassette today) and Castles in Space (a lathe 7 last week) the immaculate ‘those infinite spaces’ whirrs into view, a hulking call sign sent straight from the message centre of the great cosmic intelligence, which for arguments sake, can we candidly call it, a galactic variation of ‘Sailing By’. Field Lines Cartographer complete this account with the deeply immersive and dare I say, dream weaved ‘the Tides’, a mindfulness mesmeric of motorik murmurs, inner space astral glides and head expansive trip toning, does it for us.

Proceeds incidentally, going to assist the admirable work provided to the homeless by Shelter.

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waterless hills

Absolute apologies to both label and band for initially missing this and for the inordinate amount of time it’s taken to remedy the oversight. Out through the ever wonderful and beautifully bespoke Sonido Polifonico imprint, these are the touching sounds of Waterless Hills. As ever, an eye catching affair all beautifully packaged arriving lovingly hand pressed on 8 inches of lathe cut vinyl by Phil over at 345RPM and ‘housed in hand-stamped velum envelope with screen-printed single-sheet sleeve, postcard insert, and hand-stamped envelope containing a Waterless Hills badge, a handmade Sonido Polifonico clay token, and a Sonido Polifonico badge. Just 99 of these available all of which, I sadly suspect, have been snaffled. Pressed upon the grooves two tracks of stark crafted contrast, the snaking middle eastern raga that is ‘waverley cross’ leads out and weaves a beautifully trance like state of neo psychedelic hazy, the sonic tongue cut with a lost ancient voice rises with a restless intensity amid whose storming swirls and maddening dance, summons the very attendance of nature’s furies, formidable listening. By comparison, ‘The Empty House Of The Son Of The Vali Of Pusht-I-Kuh’ is a readily more considered and settled affair, there’s a sense of neglect, a silent solemn for something forgotten that bruises here, its yearning progressive post rock nuances very much shadowing the ache of the likes of Set Fire to Flames and the Future Kings of England of yore as it wearily stirs with almost spiritual reverance to stagger and stumble slowly ascending to a quietly majestic calm of understated and intricate beauty.

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the proper ornaments

Just love the wandering listlessness of this, by Proper Ornaments and lifted from a forthcoming full length for Tapete called ‘mission bells’, this is the searching and seeking silent aware of ‘black tar’. Haloed with a faraway airlessness, a plaintive coda unravels drawing you in to its casual matter of fact nothingness webbing, its lulling simplistic rustic coiling traded in a weave of snoozing opines which on reflection had us much minded of those subtle defences sneaking salvos crafted by Beatglider.

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Yes, yes, yes … look it’s been out for a while, get over it, spotted or more truthfully, heard it piping up all elbows and shoulders pushing its way into our affections immediately taking up the space left vacated by the previously mentioned Jim Noir cut on sound cloud. Through New Professor, this is Cheekface with the rather dandy ‘listen to your heart – No’ which I must admit superbly manages to shoehorn into its rapid fire, jabbing and jarring see-sawing vintage new wave 2.20 sound span, something that sounds very much as though its guiding reference points might well be They Might be Giants albeit here, as though fronted by a Police skulking Stewart Copeland donning his Klark Kent guise, Dare I say, essential listening.

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