singled out – missive 236

Singled Out
Missive 236

For kelly n’ mark

Singled Out – ‘uh hu’ – we hear are suspecting that this is one for you Wire reading Mixing It listening types. Boasting some seven full lengths to his name – all looking mighty fine and designed / housed in all manner of delightful looking packaging that appear as tasty art forms in their own right (wooden boxes, cloth linen sleeves, individually painted collages and so on and so forth all in extremely limited issues – and all of which once we‘ve finished here we‘ll be enquiring about with much undeterred haste). We are suspecting that Raymond Dijkstra is a solo adventure who hails from Amsterdam. Not for the feint of heart and certainly not for those hoping to hear your standard verse chorus verse musical dialogue for RD occupies a most rare and unique place in the more outer and less defined parameters of pop’s vast sonic cosmos. Embracing the abstract, RD perhaps – if reference points are needed – identifies with the more out there perimeters of art rock or more precisely the post Henry Cow adventures of the likes of Fred Frith and Chris Cutler. Four cuts feature on the sites showcasing my space player each piece barely a minute long in duration with the exception of ‘l’opus CH’ which we must admit is our favourite of the four mainly because aside sounding very eerie, sinister and shanty like in an early Volcano the Bear type oddness appears to break (sound) ranks from its compatriots in so far as developing and cultivating a more – dare we say – transcendental lineage – though obviously that’ll be transcendental in a spooked ‘murder in the dark’ type way. That said there’s something lovably reckless and anaemic about these four cuts, not so much impish more spiteful and spiked, sparse and minimalist in texture and often quite seizure stricken and violent in delivery not least ‘de reet’ which we must admit has a definable air of Stockhausen about its wares though frankly is blessed superbly with the ability to set your teeth on edge given its basically borne of an out of tune and dare we say incessant sounding and irrefutably demented Accordion over the top of which the sound of grating riff scrapes score and scar the proceedings like sonic finger nails down a blackboard. Its all most strange and yet desirable.

Our love will destroy the world ‘even my angels thought darkly’ (trensmat). And so the long and ‘tiring’ working week ended and the start of the welcomed weekend break was marked by a bunting festooning moment when upon arriving home we were greeted by an all to familiar mailer from Ireland courtesy of the much admired imprint Trensmat. Two releases were found to be tucked up inside – the latest slab of kraut grizzled boogie from Liverpool’s first and foremost lunar cadets Mugstar (more about them later) and this rather unsettling and dare we say charred and apocalyptic twin set from New Zealand’s Our love will destroy the world. Pressed up in extremely limited numbers – we hear its sold out at source – this shot of soured un-pop appears on seven inches of clear lathe cut vinyl replete with an accompanying CD featuring the same for those without turntables or hi-fi stylus’ with a want for jumping erratically across the delicate polycarbonate grooves. Campbell Kneale is Our love will destroy the world, some of you may well know him better as a member of the trio Black Boned Angel whose ’eternal love / eternal hunger’ set from a few years back near obliterated our stereophonic player (their latest opus ’verdun’ – we will seek out during the course of the next few days). Aside that his previous alias was Birchville Cat Motel who if we have our facts right was a long running project literally put to bed when its reputation and name began to grow in popularity. Our Love will destroy the World have already peppered the record baskets of seasoned record buyers this year with limited issues for the likes of the don’t fuck with magic, dekorder, tape drift and krayon imprints. As advertised previously Trensmat issue #19 comprises of two choice cuts of grimly foreboding monophonic grind, leading out with ’even my angels thought darkly’ – an austere slab of cross weaving binary communications dimpled by withering preacher styled sermonising samples, insectoid swirls and looping montages of fragmented glassy skree shards all congregating into a steaming vortex of nervous system jangling alienation which to these ears sounds not unlike some unholy dread fuelled futuristic sound-scape dreamt up by a meeting of 70 Gwen Party and Depth Charge types. Flip over for the acutely less playful ’yellow nirvana’ – a detached slab of controlled freeform discordance much nodding in the general direction of fellow New Zealander Bruce Russell, howls of white noise sheens hum, scar and scorch the groove rings, the sound an impenetrable wall of flat lined bliss fuelled oblivion both unrelenting and unwavering – though scratch beneath the furnace like surface veneer and within you’ll find the barely audible though detectable sound of grizzled primitive gloom struck dark psyche / drone sonic sub plots lying in wait and seeking to overthrow the festering feedback order.

Torturing Nurse / Assholemouthead ‘split’ (maggot meat shoppe). Came to us courtesy of those rather fine people over at love torture records – a titanic four track split release featuring plastered on one side and hailing from Shanghai – the formidable Torturing Nurse while over on the other the barbaric sonic soldering of Californian tunesmith terrorists Assholemouthead. A limited pressing cassette – of which only 60 hand numbered copies exist and a release which we suggest lovers of extreme noise ought to be seeking out and investing their hard earned spon-doolies in exchange for. Both artists previously unknown to us though we must admit to scratching our heads as to how we’ve so far managed to side step the charms of Torturing Nurse given that they’ve to date posted some 160 plus releases (including compilation and split release appearances) thus rendering the terms ‘workaholic’ and ‘prolific’ purely academic. Torturing Nurse have been obliterating hi-fi’s and melting eardrums since their inception in 2004, a revolving door collective of noise niks centred around the talents of a certain Junky who these days is aided and abetted by Youk. The charmingly titled ’control widely opened’ is brutal in a way rarely heard around these parts outside of a Hijokaidan or Masonna release, in fact this sounds ripe for Alchemy label action (who incidentally appear with much regret to have gone a little quiet of late with regard releases – have we fallen off their mailing list we wonder) such is its intensity and ferocity. A caustic cutie bleached amid an unrelenting white hot volcanic vortex of impenetrable layers of piercing pushed to overdrive power electronics, its brutal, unforgiving and exacting in its ambition to scar and scorch your very being, a truly festering display of acid dipped aural lobotomising, scalded by howls of torrential sandblasts of frequency fracturing skree – certainly not for the feint of heart or those with a nervous disposition. If its at all possible to describe them as such – Assholemouthead’s unholy trinity of sonic terrorising is by contrast slightly more digestible though none the less equally out there and scathing. The alter ego of Love Torture head honcho David Lucien Matheke of whom incidentally whose other current side project Internal Improv – will get a much deserving mention in these pages at some point over this here weekend. As said three cuts feature within – all pretty much ploughing a similar thematic groove root to each other and all bearing an acute want for inhumane imagery brandishing as they do the titles ’slow castration’, ’lawinen des bluts’ and ’awake during surgery’. its grim stuff, high pitched flat-lined dronal frequency manipulations and subliminal speech samples buried beneath thick layers of glassy shimmer toned hazes of opaque discordance is what’s on offer all very much veering into the outer cusp of 70 Gwen Party’s more overtly incubated apocalyptic sound-scapes and all enough to have you wearily staring over your shoulder whilst suffering nights of fearful insomnia. Sweet eh. Very disturbed and very disturbing. – we did actually mention this lot way back at missive 226 wherein we commented thus….

“ – be honest you like their name don’t you – its kind of wacky isn’t it, promising all manner of lunacy and strange mercurial happenings that quite frankly appear to have much neglected in recent years by bands and labels alike. Pigeons and the insane Porridge Makers hail from Saint Petersburg a locality on the global map which we here feel is sadly unrepresented in these pages. They describe themselves as falling under the ’experimental / psychedelic / rock’ umbrella and other than that the trail of information runs cold – alas we did try to access their official web site but found our PC abruptly kicked out twice. Ho hum. Anyway they profess to having a fondness for all things 60’s psychedelic in sound though from what we’ve heard it appears they do a rather freakishly tasty stew that above all sounds not unlike a drinks a flowing studio jam between the Ukranians, early career ‘when in Rome’ era Cud with a particularly chilled Cravats inspecting and co-ordinating the events, skewiff jazz signatures, tribal rhythmic mantras (as on the fried ‘horse‘ with its Beefheart meets Zappa out there oddness), plenty of 60’s hammonds and a general all round trippiness is what’s on offer, hell they could be blood relations of the equally mischievous imps APATT and sound ripe for a spot of Pickled Egg involvement. That said we here are more than fond of the acid fried and lysergic ’craftsmanship’ which amid its wasted psych tonalities and sultry Arabesque snake charms sounds to these ears like some daydream mirage involving Jefferson Airplane’s ’white rabbit’ albeit as though re-wired by a particularly shit faced Bjork with the Walking Seeds applying all manner of psychotropic un-worldliness to the proceedings. We need to hear more“.

Anyway we got a friend request from Saint Petersburg’s finest, most welcome it was to, ‘craftsmanship’ is still streets ahead in terms of affection earned in our gaff though we’re of a mind to equally recommend new cut ‘raga’ which to these ears sounds like some fuzzily trip wired primitive winter solstice mantra culled from the collective mindset of a stone hugging Sunburned Hand of the Man and Volcano the Bear gathering.

Mugstar ‘today is the wrong shape’ (trensmat). Indeed ‘today is the wrong shape’ – I do so often find that to be the case don’t you, you wake up in the morning feeling a bit triangular and the day goes all square – the rest of your time pointlessly spent trying to fit in. of course you never do. Gets slightly more complicated when you factor in colours to the equation Think we’ll stop right there before the majority start to lose the will to live or else start nodding off in the back. The much welcomed return of the mighty Mugstar. Think I’ll start by saying that this is – pardon the French if you will – fucking immense. Again as with the previous Our love will destroy the world single (same label see above somewhere here) this release has by all accounts sold out on pre-orders at source, again pressed up on strictly limited editions of clear lathe cut polycarbonate vinyl of the round seven inch variety and frankly packing more throbbing horn than a German hardcore porno flick. Anyhow it seems this lots forthcoming second full length should soon be seeing the light of day via the impressive and much loved Important imprint (featured in these very pages courtesy of releases from Cave, Bardo Pond, the skull defekts and of course Merzbow) while we’ve noted anxiously a split releases with Red Panda on the Lancashire and Somerset label – amid whose catalogue we’ve also noted something by an ensemble by the name of Euchrid Eucrow who feature in their ranks a certain Caroline Weeks – whose debut solo for Fire was a much loved thing around these parts a month or so ago. Rest assured orders are being placed for both releases as I write. Back to this brute from Trensmat – a twin pronged star flung slab of hyper driven kraut grind is what you get for the asking, opening the account ’today is the wrong shape’ a nuts down power driving speaker pummelling big bearded bastard of a cut riddled and nailed by waves of locked grooved wig flipping riffage that punitively converge en masse to form into one explosively raging black hole of sound that to us comes across like a seriously grizzled prime time Hawkwind. flip the disc for the mind expanding psychotropic prog odyssey that is ’technical knowledge is a weapon’ – a cosmic refuelling point where the lay lines linking Goblin, Mountain and Amon Dull II cross, all low strung looping swamp dragged grooves dashed by halos of chin stroking early 70’s sourced keys. Damn fine. On the accompanying CD you’ll find the same cuts aided and abetted by a Jenny Collins directed video for ‘flotation tank’ – a track culled from their debut full length plus two covers – a scorching re-visit of ZZ Top’s ‘I got the six’ – perhaps the dirtiest and scuzziest Mugstar we’ve ever heard and re-affirming our long held opinion that this lot are the bastard offspring of the much under-appreciated Walking Seeds. While wrapping up matters a surprisingly faithful and more intensely wound re-tread of Fairport Conventions ’tam lin’ which incidentally initially appeared on the psych-folksters seminal ’liege and lief’ set which if you’re interested in such things was recently given the full on 180gm in gatefold sleeve treatment by 4 men with beards. Don’t think I need to tell you its essential.

Also check out Trensmat’s sister label Nub – latest release comes courtesy of Magnetize’s ’sweex’ – their second appearance on the label following the labels debut assault ’frame dragging’…..we will be rooting out our copies today – I promise……xx
Assholemouthead ’devastator’ EP (Nihil Underground). Fresh from freaking the crap out of us courtesy of his split offering with Torturing Nurse, this six track EP entitled ’devastator’ sees Mr Matheke resuscitating his charmingly named Assholemouthead alter ego for a spot of menacing and macabre mayhem, edgy and hostile and violently threatening the set opens to ‘enter devastation’ – before you’ve even had pause for getting your head in place ready to undergo and face the atrocities within – Matheke is about you in an instant sonic figures gripping tightly around your throat sucking you dry of your life force with the opening ‘enter devastation’ a caustic face peeling furnace of jarring and jumbled communiqués weighted out at force and whose sheer ferocity literally pins you flat to the wall. ‘frozen machine 1’ maintains the agit disquiet, sounding not unlike some macabre and dank subterranean drone employed factory, the harsh industrial looping cycles cast a chillingly detached and alienated edginess to the proceedings. Likewise with ’stockade in the dead of winter’ which in all fairness comes across like a galactic and sinister threshing machine being operated by shit-faced Clangers, then there’s the bleached post apocalyptic aftermath of the aptly titled ’dead earth’ and its sister in arms the fuzzily distorting electro shocked binary chatter amid ’dead sky’ (is there a theme emerging here we wonder) which neatly leads to the parting ’endure’ – a demonic and deranged slab of violent and threatening Dadaist spasms and wiring white noise howls congregating to achieve critical mass though some of you may well view it as some futureless campaign of genetic cleansing exacted by the onset and rise of a dread filled post nuclear cybernetic army. Repeat plays may well have you going gabba gabba while the rest of us will just content ourselves with the lack of eardrums and ears having had them intensely burnt off.
Anata Wa Sukkari Tsukarete ‘sweetness and light’ EP (bear suit). This release has the familiar Bearsuit name tattooed to its backside which should at least give those of you who pay attention to such things fair warning that what probably lies within is guaranteed to be something unlike anything you’ve heard or experienced before. A three way collaborative, Anata Wa Sukkari Tsukarete feature among their line up a grammy award winning Japanese musician, an English rock artist and an American rock guitarist – its all a bit of a mystery and a tight lipped affair but then it’s the kind of fayre that we’ve come to love and expect fro Bearsuit. The sounds of course are equally impish and slightly way out and up yonder on pop’s musical axis. Five strange delights is the best way to describe them, dainty and dare we say loveably dippy daydream mirages that swirl between minimalist candy strips of chamber toned electro pop and soft psyche folk. From out of the haze the mind weaving soft psych shimmer of ‘forsake’ positions itself into view, haloes of celestial chorus’ hum radiantly in the background all the time gathering depth and dimension almost drowning out the lilting sugar spun j-psyche intones pausing only for the onset of the fracturing sound effects comprised of sizzled and sunburnt discordance and fuzz wrapped riff chugs – fans of early career Flying Saucer Attack will swoon aplenty. Then there’s the Broadcast meets Serge Gainsbourg spectral chamber noir of the slyly attractive eerily orbiting opine ’cataract’ sweetly souring aside ’bearskins’ which aside sounding not unlike some freakishly fanciful face off between Cornelius and Momus as though suspended in some heavenly poised hermetically sealed bubble woos and weaves ominously an audaciously fried and flipped glitch shanty setting. Phased vocals drawn through the ether as were the tear swelling title cut opts for a moment shy eyed noir toned classicism with the resonating key motifs endowing the listening space with a glassy sepia trimming that’s soon torn and tarnished by an unravelling finale wherein everything goes a tad awry and off road. ’my drive’ rounds up the pack, a sleepy headed cutie replete with disembodied samples, spooked vocals, nightmarish montages – really does sound wasted and uber chilled – a bit like imagining some bliss cradled smooching session between godspeed and black heart procession with Leonard Cohen calling briefly by to offer up some trademark tube supplements. Essential of course.
Here’s a spot of Mick Harvey and Co doing ‘initials BB’ ….


Some Brigitte – always a good thing….


And of course….Serge

Can you guess the link……indeed none are Australian…

More of this type of stuff later – as ever thanks to all those who’ve unwittingly been accomplices to these musings – most of all thanks to you for taking time out to read it.

Back shortly with more – all good essential stuff – I hope – for correspondence see above – till later then take care
You have been kissed by the Sunday Experience.


first aired – August 16th, 2009

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