singled out – missive 234

Singled Out
Missive 234

For Kel n’ Mark

‘if I were not a physicist I would probably be a musician, I often think in music, I live my daydreams in music, I see my life in terms of music…I get most joy in life out of music’ Albert Einstein.

Submissions type detail things –


PLEASE NOTE – Do not send stuff to Italy if you want stuff to go me as I never see the blighters.


Music stuff…. – Forofo are a duo from Dundee, Chris and Eamonn are their names who by all accounts employ only vocals, buttons and toys to craft their sounds. Intrigued – you bet we were for to date they’ve posted just one solitary track and a deceptively engaging bugger it is. Wired throughout its core matrix by a series of syncopating rhythmic loops, ‘hamoose and pidida’ is a gorgeously woven terra-forming carnival of sound, its initial greeting sounding not unlike those liquid state interlude like linking signatures much in presence on the early work of Jean Michel Jarre, from therein it incorporates all manner of ethnic weaves, calypso corteges, celestial caresses and stuttering mutant funk follies to its lush like bow, the ambient dreamscapes seemingly dissipating into each other creating something of a fringe flipping exotic state of sub consciousness whereby the briefly fleeting motifs of Bob Marley‘s ‘could you be loved’ waft in and out of view alongside the even briefer though detectable vital signs of Thomas Dolby’s ‘hyperactive’, add in some extraordinary Cooder meets Fripp montages and sumptuously pin it to a backdrop that to these ears has more than a feint whiff of 808 State’s scribing about its wares and you have yourself a little gem.

Model Village ‘ three tunes’ (demo). Another of those breezy little beauties which occasionally sees fit to come out of the blue and romance our hi-fi is the debut recordings from Model Village. Essentially the lo-fi loveliness of Econoline’s Piers and Ian, there was a feeling between the two that the mellowed musings emanating from out of their country tweaked canon deserved something of a feint though radiantly vibrant colouring and bringing to life and so the plan hatched to gather together a rhythm section made up of members culled from various beat pop combos such as the Hidden Messages, Fuzzy Lights and Eye Hai, the process completed with the addition to the ranks of Ellie Walker whose recent CV entry included appearing on Rick Wakeman’s typically extravagant six wives of Henry VIII presentation. Though it beggars belief – as yet Model Village remain unsigned, three cuts feature on this their debut recording each revealing a crystalline craftsmanship lushly awash with the same kind of mercurial purr as befits current releases by the Low Anthem and the Leisure Society, the 70’s MOR detailing and the breathlessly lazy eyed lilt of old school Americana combine to make it the most engaging and rewarding of listening experiences. The caressing lull of the softly tendered and homely opening salvo ’country claimed me’ – a succulent slice of delicately dimpled driftwood metered out with subtle brass inclines, rustic swirls, demurring honey tipped harmonies, undulating pastures and bitter sweet reclines has the unerring appeal of a shy eyed and introspective Go Betweens while the woody open bound resonance of the parting ’sweets’ with its quietly arresting unfurling effervescence deceptively manages to lift the spirits as though applied by some slight of hand trickery all the time sounding like a campfire note passing session between a youthful Summer Hymns and the Earlies rewiring a curdled brew informed by the work of Buffalo Springfield. That said – and as difficult as it is to split the blighters up – for us ’Stockholm’ provides the sets with its most telling moment – embracing that same hollowed countrified pop thrill as was once traced by Moviola on their excellent ’durable dream’ set this beauty cuts a dash amid a melodic landscape that was once the accepted remit of World Party and with that should by rights be rewarded with some sizable heavy radio rotation on the more acutely tuned in drive time listings. Ones to watch by our reckoning.

Chickenhawk ‘A. Or what?’ (brew). One for the donning of tin hats we’re suspecting, this three track power drilled juggernaut from Leeds combo Chickenhawk has – if you pardon the vernacular – been scaring the shite of our hi-fi since arriving at the losing today record shed earlier today. Having already made their presence felt on the underground hardcore scene with last years debut full length for the Sound Devastation imprint the quartet return to open up old wounds with this scorching three pronged salvo. Both brutal and skewiff ‘I hate this, do you like it?’ opens proceedings, a menacing meltdown of eye poking ferocity literally pours from the grooves of this fierce some bastard, a white hot cauldron of contortionist prog math mayhem that lays you under siege from the word go and serves to seemingly delight in tightening its grip around your throat while pinning your ears flat around your head, scathing as opposed to apocalyptic this scalding bastard wires into its matrix some nifty mutated shards of Killing Joke styled chop chop riffmanship. Elsewhere ’son of cern’ is a bone crunching slab of grizzled metal headed funk bound for hell on a carthorse though admittedly it should be said pails in comparison to the sets best moment – the punishing ’NASA vs. ESA’ wherein the bands often compared Melvins references come into festering focus, a warring mass of lurching and gouging carnage all replete with caustically coiled chugging chords and bludgeoning brain fucked dementia. Tormented stuff.

Here’s the video for ‘NASA vs. ESA’……

<p><a href=”″>Chickenhawk – NASA Vs ESA</a> from <a href=”″>Roach Productions</a> on <a href=””>Vimeo</a&gt;.</p>

Cazukay ‘s/t’ (scotch tapes). Sporting a debut cassette release via those nice people over a Scotch Tapes sadly the information runs cold after that so alas there’ll be no passing on of the no doubt fabulous rockin n’ rollin’ activities currently being conducted by Texas based Cazukay. The cassette incidentally is your typical Scotch Tapes affair – limited to just 30 copies – a copy of which we – to much joy – have a copy of (#9 in case you’re taking notes) which incidentally comes housed in a wall paper come origami styled packaging. Should by rights appeal to those among you who like your sounds somewhat puzzling, peculiar and so far off the radar that generic mapping hasn’t quite gotten around to giving it a hip and snappy box in to which to file it in. six tracks feature within and basically appear to be stilled abstract atmospheric collages derived from a varying range of looping rhythmic sources and drone swathes, its eerie and austere stuff at times barely audible but all the same unsettling and if truth be known strangely tranquil to a certain extent. Cazukay it seems plots the vast and as yet rarely signposted micro worlds of the sonic spectrum, its something that should appeal first hand to admirers of Vernon Arts Lab (especially on the clock worked rhythmic calibrations of the deeply odd ‘march to the slaughter of broom city’ with its haunting chill of Tibetan like ceremonial corteges and whirring frequency manipulations – very Add N to X meets VAL‘s ‘hob‘s lane‘ set if you ask me) and the more experimental and earlier work of Bronnt Industries Kapital, these dronal epitaphs as said barely register to the human ear such is their low end aural gravity in fact on more than one occasion we were obliged to double take the opening salvo ’acid underwater’ mistaking its controlled and compressed white noise skree signatures for cassette static. ’pink water’ utilizes all manner of fluid texturing sounding to these ears like some torrential downpour replete with curious insectoid accoutrements. ’fight the European swimmer’ is similarly tendered sounding not unlike the magnified ripple echoes experienced by swimming underwater. Elsewhere ’drowning to you means breathing to me’ is a freakishly echo laden dub-tronic hybrid jam of sorts grafted by interweaving percussive beats that collectively give the impression of some kind of ghostly locomotive freewheeling through some airless void – very strange and one for BBC Radiophonic Workshop boffins unless we are very much off the mark.

Savath Y Savalas ‘la llama’ (stones throw). Apologies that this took so long to find its way onto our hi-fi after being rooted out from the bottom of a very tall and tottering listening pile where it was found mooching solemnly a tad unloved. Since that discovery a week or so ago the blighter has rarely been out of the hi-fi’s ear shot whereupon its been something of a late night winding down soundtrack around these here parts. Of course much to our embarrassment its been out and about for a month or so, the more in tune among you are probably well versed with it having satiated yourselves on its beguiling charms until full and have no doubt since moved on in search of pastures anew for the next turntable nugget – who said the awesome Gaslamp Killer set on Finders Keepers eh? ‘la llama’ is the second full length from duo Scott Herren (who you may well recognise in his Prefuse 73 guise) and Eva Puyuelo following their well received debut ‘apropa’t’ a few years ago which to much grumbling and moments of teeth gnashing we appear to have missed out on. This release comprised of sixteen tracks sees their ranks swelled by the addition Roberto Carlos Lange. The original concept of Savath Y Savalas’ was borne of a desire to translate the elements of late 60’s and early 70’s era South American psych and archaic folk sounds and relocate them into a modernist Catalan / Castellano setting. ’La Llama’ provides for a richly intoxicating tapestry of sound, the dream weaving collages woo and waft with whisperish seduction, so softly unobtrusive and delicately crafted you’d be forgiven for not immediately catching upon it deceptively demurring hazes of swirling serenades of hymnal folk / psyche mirages and lushly lilting lounge pop tropicalia flavourings – best evidence in our view via ’las 7 sendas’. reference wise ’La Llama’ takes its cue from the much missed Le Mans (especially on ‘no despierta’) and Anna D, though scratch away at its woozy and spectral pastoral glazes and some of you may be inclined to revisit your Damon and Naomi collection – especially their collaboration with Ghost – for a quick cross check appraisal for what you have here is something that‘s all at once sleek and slick, enchanting, trippy, dreamy, sultry, love sick and utterly beautiful in both design and texture. The entrancing spectral romance of the ghost like lounge lulls of ‘la loba’ have to be heard to be believed, an affectionate apparition of sound that to these ears sounds like a frost tipped lysergic gathering of blissed out members of Wendy and Bonnie and the Free Design recalibrating gems originally conceived by Os Mutantes. Likewise ‘untitled‘ veers with more vivid realisation into soundscapes initially envisaged on Stereolab‘s ‘sound dust‘. Elsewhere as though captivated by some dream like slumber ’me voy’ soon begins to stretch, yawn and emerge into focus blossoming seductively with a deeply alluring euphoric pop glow much like some long lost recent vault rescued nugget from the early 70’s replete with a free spirited Aquarian detailing that’s longingly dappled and dimpled by moments of heart arresting bewitchment. In short ’la llama’ is an exquisitely fused aural alchemy of intoxicating measure.

Werewolves ‘dance raincoat glass’ EP (BNS sessions). Just had an email from Shawn the head honcho of the BNS sessions imprint to say that the Werewolves debut platter is about to break cover to shortly appear on the coolest of record store counters in the coming weeks. Failing that you can get it via mail order directly from the label and as a free download a link which we have but wont pass on just yet until we’ve confirmed with Shawn that we’ve read his message right. Anyway those of you in possession of elephantine memories not that you should need them of course may well remember this lot given we’ve raved with much fondness about them at every opportunity via these despatches not least with regards their sublime double seven inch debut from a few years back simply entitled ‘ES’ which landed in our laps like a bolt out of the blue, amid its grooves the promise of something to make those hapless ’next big thing’ recommendations by certain advertising geared rags appear hollow and ill informed. To this day ‘pill box’ is still an unsurpassable gem. A follow up single ’fire / water’ only sought to further reaffirm what we already knew – that being these where the dogs bollocks. If anything ’dance raincoat glass’ is everything you’d hope from a debut album by a band considered so affectionately, reserved, clinical, evenly balanced and full of surprises – it doesn’t shoot its bolt by smothering you rather more it ghosts across the turntable sometimes just barely there occasionally making its impression known by some moments of fracturing zig zagging grizzled new wave (‘hannah’). that said what it does do is it plays with you dragging you backwards and forwards through a finite blend of hot n’ cold treatments that sees them dipping between their now trademark shade adorned softly fuzzy psyche motifs and elements of sweetly murmured and tempting quietly shy eyed pop haloed drills. If you’re looking for reference markers Hopewell would be as good a start as any, add in some Ambulance LTD and the Crimea for added appeal whilst not forgetting the mainstay nods to Spacemen 3, Brian Jonestown Massacre and the Black Angels – oh and some Makers. ’dance raincoat glass’ is a strange beast, culled together like a rock opera odyssey hence the inclusion of mentions for the Makers (’rock star God’) and the Crimea (’secrets of the witching hour’), its an album that’s there and yet not quite there if you get my drift, constantly leading you up blind alleys and keeping you forever on the back foot with its want for doing exactly what you least expect all the time fluttering and flickering in a most curiously measured way which if anything the pre-cursor singles only loosely hinted at. Blending psyche, withered soul blues (check the scalding key drenched ‘Christa Paffgen Head Injury‘), pristinely cut honey dripped pop and numbing reverb soaked gospel (you obviously think I’ve lost the plot at this point – so check out the drop dead hollowed beauty of ’live through war’ and see if I’m wrong). The album opens to the instrumental ‘dream house’ – an atmospheric ambient fog bound shanty mantra of sorts located as were in the mystical depths of some Tibetan hideaway all fuzzy, sultry and exotically transcendental and ends with ’house of anarchists’ a shimmering reverb soaked road blues beauty all shade adorned and Velveteen in texture, frankly to uber cool for its own good given it blissfully freewheels in the same smoked climates as once ventured by Spacemen 3 and these days by Brian Jonestown Massacre and the Black Angels succulently bathing your listening space in all manner of fringe flicking snake winds and lushly psychotropic key swathes. Between these points you’ll encounter the lo-fi minimalism of the scorched and scarred ’I need you’ with its white hot fuzz swirled obsessive psychosis, the anxious desire cast with such vivid focus it literally bleeds from the grooves as it opines in its own fatal lovelorn trappings eking out a blistered soul blues hollowing that in another era could have easily been mistaken for something curdled by a gathering of 13th Floor Elevator, Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane types. Elsewhere the proceeding ’there will be’ brutishly ferments a grizzled brew of distantly smoked delta blues accents with a mind warping psych tweaked fuzzed out blizzard that for all the world sounding likes its passed through a wormhole straight out of some acid freaked dingy basement from the mid 60’s whilst should we dare to forget to mention the frantic and frenetic pulse racing contortionist pop thrill of ’dora gerson’. then of course there’s the sensitively sculptured pop gemstones – the aforementioned ’live through war’, radiant boy’ and ’for the snow queen’ – the latter a gorgeously translucent nocturnal nuzzler beset by a serenading off kilter funky motif and drilled with milky forlorn fancies – arrestingly soft and disturbingly delicate and tremble some while ’radiant boy’ smoulders and glows amid a landscape of abject shy eyed bruising that subtly tailgates the more hurting moments of Radiohead’s ’in rainbows’. Quite perfect all said and done.

Here a wee bit of footage of the band at the Annex in New York…

All Killer ‘finders keepers records 1-20 as remixed by the Gaslamp Killer’ (finders keepers). We must admit this is turntable seduction at its most sexiest and quite possibly the remix set to end all remix sets. Frankly a crowd frenzy whipping party bag all of its own. But first a little background as to how all this come about. Finders Keepers much loved around these parts and the vault exhuming arm of the Twisted Nerve record umbrella which also happens to include the Battered Ornaments, B-Music and Disposable Music imprints among its collective roll call, have over the course of the last few years been responsible for unearthing a positive cornucopia of lost treasures, taking said discoveries back to their hide out for a spot of cleaning and tweaking and then re-introducing into a society whose memory of such sounds has in recent years been dulled, reduced and withered by the oppressive tide of pointless best of lists and the same regurgitation of what we’ve come to know and love as ’household names’. to date there have been 20 plus releases emerging from Finders Keepers resuscitation unit among the pickings long out of print and highly sought after collectables from the worlds of folk, tropicalia, welsh beat, eastern European vampire soundtracks and fuzzy psyche – perhaps the icing of all so far being Jean Claude Vannier’s most desirable ‘L’Enfant assassin des mouches’ a conceptual psychedelic odyssey of choral perfection released in 1973 wherein it quickly disappeared out of print and these days high on the wants lists of samplers, DJ’s and hip hop artists alike. So that’s the domestics done with. How best to celebrate the release of the 20th outing was something the Finders Keepers crew had long been considering, distant admirers of the Gaslamp Killer they’re mutual respect for each other was cemented when the FK entourage where invited over to LA to perform a set at GK’s cult ’low end theory’ night, on that trip notes where exchanged and plans where hatched and off went the FK-ers merrily on their way back home. The result of those note exchanges and swapping of mutual good will has resulted in this near perfect set. Armed with the Finders Keepers back catalogue the Gaslamp Killer takes his mixing palette dashed with all manner of vividly intoxicating kaleidoscopic colourings and wires up a colossal living and breathing musical odyssey that remoulds and remodels these rich and rare strange sounds of yesteryear into a modernist slice of mind bending sophistication. Much like the Winston Giles Orchestra’s sumptuous ‘soundtracks for sunrise’ from a year or so ago, the Gaslamp Killer applies his mixing prowess and his innately informed ear to craft something which simultaneously retains its of the period integrity and yet manages to sound fresh and almost beyond and out of time and for all seasons, in ‘all killer’ he has employed a broad spectrum of generic species ranging from progressive rock, rain swept noir landscapes, eastern motifs, arabesque accents, calypso (his mutation of Amral‘s Trinidad Cavaliers Steel Drum Orchestra with Jean Claude Vanier – really needs to be heard to be believed as does his red rill of two of Vannier’s cuts that you‘ll find perched at track 4 – much reminiscent of he Owl Service‘s own cover set ’Cine’), dub and weirdly entrancing orbiting lullabies whose reference markers are undoubtedly owing to the BBC Radiophonic Workshop and Raymond Scott (as on the trippy cortege of the spacey face off between Mustafa Ozkent, Sarolta Zalatnay and the library alchemists the Vampires of Dartmoore) – its a gloriously compulsive and compelling listening tapestry so well conceived and weaved that you can scarcely see the joins – the set an hour long will appeal primarily to admirers of those early 70’s blaxploitation tweaked soundtracks – Edwin Moses, Lalo Schifron et al – the set fluid and flowing imparts an almost distinct and stand alone all action soundtrack of its own with each of the labels finds pitted against each other in tag team formations to morph into one another and collectively cast a delirious terra forming psychotropic collage. By our reckoning the best moments are Susan Christie and Chris Harwood being wired onto the fat n’ funky trip hopping string arrangements of Spectre and Jean Jacques Dexter. Priceless stuff.

Here’s a link giving you the chance to download his recent mix set for BBC’s Mary Ann Hobbs show…. – side project of a certain Daniel Land here found opting for a spot of extra curricula work on the side while his full time obsession Daniel Land and the Modern Painters enjoy a brief moment of downtime before picking up the baton and venturing on road to promote their forthcoming full length. river run finds Mr Land utilising all manner of synths, taped sounds, prepared pianos and guitars and the odd straying mechanical animal – his words not mine – honest – to craft a beautifully shy and retiring dronal suite primarily informed by nature’s very own elements, its moods, its seasonal changes and ultimately its majesty. In some respects much recalling the early Ochre era work of Stylus, Land weaves a hollowed melodic mirage of faintly treading bitter sweetly coiled melancholic tablatures that softly stir and ebb and flow forlornly. Comprised of stilled atmospherics, these ice sculptures slowly advance like glacial tides responding to some leviathan like beast silently surveying their surroundings as they glide with ghost like faintness emitting distress opines into the voids. From the fog bound echoes drawing from the mist of ‘bae traddur’ to the panoramic cavernous howls of desolation that scar the initial moments of the celestially transcendental ‘north of longstone‘, Land applies a measured ambient artistry to his bruised scores. These micro verse montages all at once beguiled, frail and fragile act like epitaph signposts of a moment lost, that said the best of the showcasing set for us is ‘doniford beach, September’ where for once the piercing and dulling overcast ache momentarily parts and dissipates to be replaced by something truly sublime and softly seducing – a crystal tipped slice of star glazed solitude, the unfurling and yawning stretch of the bowed arrangements and the haunting lullaby-esque twinkle some spectral sheens seemingly basking the listening space in a yearning glaze of pre dawn breaking twilight mirages much recalling the more somnambulant work of Yellow 6. Touching stuff.


For those of you yet to be captivated by the cathedral-esque chime drenched tail smoke beauty of Daniel Land and the Modern Painters are advised to redirect your mouse to wherein you can be arrested by the Chapterhouse meets Cocteaus starry eyed love note ‘off your face again’ and as perfect a way to round off the evening and indeed this particular missive we’d have trouble bettering. A new full length is due sometime around October via Saint Cecilia.
As always thanks to all those who’ve had some part in these musings and to you for tuning in. Its most humbling and flattering.

Next Singled Out will be with you in – ooh two days or less if you’re good – or bad depending on how you view these things.

Till then take care of yourselves…


aired originally 23rd August 2009

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