singled out – missive 240

Singled Out
Missive 240

For Kel n’ Mark

Singled Out – you know it makes sense.

Little Redde ‘spellbound’ (three coins music). Led from the fore by Amy Anderson Law, Little Redde named after the aforementioned ladies knack of blushing bright red are a by all accounts hotly tipped Scottish combo whose debut full length ‘Tuesdays and Thursdays’ is currently simmering on a back burner awaiting a forthcoming release date. Compared to Blondie, the Cardigans and er – Girls Aloud who much to our disappointment rarely feature in these pages – now how tongue and cheek is that. Anyway enough of that – we must admit we can see the Blondie references clear as the nose on our face on the opening cut ’spellbound’ – all chugging new wave riff throbs craftily razor ripped candy twisted and dinked by a subtle glam pub rock pop thrill all invested with a ridiculously catchy and edgy framing much recalling Harry and Co’s ’plastic letters’ work as though spliced with the ID of Joan Jett and the Runaways and blessed with some nifty snaking riff curls. That said it’s the Beatles meets Bangles soft psyche kaleidoscopic washes on the flip cut ’Mr Hamilton’ that had us pausing in our tracks, the delicate dimpling of West Coast accents, the unfurling lysergic codas blossoming to radiate their silken sun glowed essence and the sumptuous feel good lulls combine to make it something of a softly purring sweetie that may well just catch you off guard as it wrestles its way beneath your defences.

Here’s a wee video of ’running blind’ culled from their forthcoming debut full length – very Bangles don’t you find…. – a quartet hailing from Cardiff / Carmarthen, admittedly the cuts are a little rough around the edges but Conductor describe their sound as ’experimental rock’ though unless our ears are seriously being deceived we are detecting elements of a little bit of Wire blossoming to sweetly terra form into territories more readily occupied at one time by the much missed Quickspace via ’lleuad llawn’ – add in some nifty embellishing of austere undercurrents that bring with them a somewhat chilling edginess and you have yourselves something that sounds suspiciously like its slipped off the edge of Left Hand’s much admired ‘minus eight’ set. ‘termites’ on the other hand has a discernible post rockist kraut prog grind to it that imagines a rough n’ ready jam session conducted by a meeting of Mountain and San Lorenzo types while new posting ’black box recorder’ opts for something that sounds not unlike Soundgarden in their younger form. Ones to keep an eye on we suspect. – great big spotters badge if you half correctly detected the small detail to do with this lots name that had us initially attracted in the first place, mind you what really sealed f*ck, I’m a ghost’s cause was the fact that they are signed to future recordings which of course as those who keep a finger on the pulse of such things is the small though rather wonderful imprint who have been responsible in recent memory for bringing such notables as we all inherit the moon and Ascent of Everest into the public conscious. Alas not a great deal of information on f*ck, I’m a ghost other than the fact they are from the Monterey district of California that said what we do know is that they have a knack for concocting bracing and brooding slow to burn windswept post rock’y epics whose map referencing on pop’s ever evolving landscape lies somewhere between Billy Mahonie and the Future Kings of England, ‘winners cup’ in particular proving to be a torrential and tumultuous slab of storm beckoning solace though we here must admit to being a tad smitten by the lighter shadings found on the howling sun scorched majesty of ’short straw’ where the softly purring reverbs instil an almost delicately kaleidoscopic haze like psych mantra to the proceedings that to these ears has all the vital sign trimmings of Neil Young fronting the Band.

Dieter Moebius

Invariably mention the name Dieter Moebius to electronic / krautrock purists and the utterances of such phrases ‘legend’ and ‘godfather’ will no doubt liberally sprinkle the conversation. Strangely though drop the same into polite public house chatter and the chances are you’ll be met with curiously puzzled looks belonging to persons with furrowed brows. Its not as though Moebius has been – shall we say – hiding his light beneath the bushel, he hasn’t – rather more like fellow aural alchemist Hans Joachim Roedelius he has maintained a position in the wings just out of view of the celebrated gaze of attention bestowed upon a scene / work ethic and way of life forever entwined and associated by the likes of Kraftwerk, Can and Neu! Like Roedelius he has remained something of an unseen puppet master guiding, orchestrating and shape shifting a melodic DNA structure and ensuring its engagement and release from the confines and restrictions of the domains of experimental laboratory boffins to its acceptance in popular culture via his pioneering work with Kluster and Harmonia.

‘Kram’ – loosely translated as ‘stuff’ may not push the envelope any great deal in terms of that barrier forcing persona of yore yet what it does provide for is a streamlined entry level lesson in the embracing, the cross fusion and the melding of krautrock templates, ambient accents and electronic detailing – perhaps best viewed on the drifting chilled timbres of the elegantly bound ‘dauert‘ with its sedately coiled clockwork mechanisms and lunar swirls. Surprisingly light in tonality and easily digestible, Moebius takes you on a space age voyage, it’s a deceptively lush odyssey that along the way finds him piloting similar terrains as Plaid, that said don’t be too surprised if the weaving of the sound-scaped ghosts of Biosphere, Future Sound of London (especially on the busy sounding ‘lauert’) and 808 State become an all to obvious element of fascination for despite his advancing years this synthesising sexagenarian still has his head and ears wired to a state of the art currency.

‘kram’ finds Moebius’ continuing his ongoing journey into the same rhythmically enhanced sound-scapes that was the central feature of his ’nurton’ set from 2006 for blue pole, it perhaps provides for his most immediate and accessible body of work in some time, both efficient and clinical; lush and intricate in textural detail – across these ten tracks there’s a heavy reliance on ethnic sub culturing. Once availed of its quietly beset and confused half woken state the multi layered ’start’ soon emerges resplendently equipped and despatched with a subtle softly sheened exotic hue to assume mass, depth and density as all its disparate sonic stratas converge as one. Its contrast with ’steigert’ is acute the exoticism replaced by a tribal like Australasian primitivism, the mood dark and claustrophobic – but then it’s a given feature of ’kram’ in so far as the way Moebius fluently weaves between a canvas of dark and light tonalities to the effect of instilling an absorbing listening experience upon the would be viewer.

All said though ’kram’s nearest reference marker is Jean Michel Jarre’s ’Zoolook’ – non more so is this felt to be the case than on the parting ‘markt’ and ’rennt’ (and ‘rast’ which is pretty much the latters twin sibling though injected with a hypnotic proggy essence) wherein he crafts that self same sense of slow build stately euphoria eclipsing drama to the proceedings and sows in a veritable tapestry of mind expanding ethnic charms with the former proving a more a malleable and sultry excursion into mid ‘Architecture and Morality’ era OMD. Elsewhere there’s the ominously doom tweaked regal aura of the monochrome ’Schwitzt’ veering into worlds previously occupied by mid career Add N to X. The sets highlight for us personally is ‘kommt’ – a cosmic prog goliath of sorts, its classically retro shading and wide screen aspects combining to give it a sense of a soundtrack for some hyper driven sci-fi epic yet to be filmed, that said on closer inspection a fair number of you may well view it as sounding like Fleetwood Mac’s ’tusk’ albeit being given a futuristic refit by the ideas sharing pairing of Goblin and John Carpenter. Classy stuff.

Key tracks –

Schwitzt – impossibly infectious and sounding for all the world as though they haven’t so much been bitten by the funky bug but are breeding the blighters by the truck load in a secretly located shed that doubles as a recording studio. Information is a tad confused and limited about this four piece French beat pop combo who it should be said sound as though they’ve stepped straight out of a time tunnel from a fashionably chic 60’s boutique. Blending a mix of covers of sixties French bands they say we’ve never heard of – and they are indeed right we haven’t heard of them sadly – and a liberal sprinkling of originals, Les Terribles concoct a delirious brew of hippy trippy wiggy jiggy hip hugging toe tapping tastiness from the beat grooved snazziness of the snap crackled bubblegum pop tweaked seductive ray gun zapping ’pas si terrible’ to the soft psyche shimmer ray ban requiring uber cool slinkiness of the purring ’pourquoi je pleure’ – mind over at the Sunday experience record shed we’ve been a bopping our backsides off and cutting strange shapes to the smoked and sultry early 70’s styled Latino psych pop glow of ’ne le decois pas’ – word has it there are albums kicking around – rest assured we will investigate further. – obviously overdosing heavy on the Seeds, Zappa, 13th Floor Elevators and the Standells, French garage beat meisters Les Synapses may well prove in time to be the coolest thing in the fuzz pop firmament – apparently there’s a demo CD kicking about that we fear we’ll suffer fro sleep deprivation until such time as its safely delivered into our grasp. Anyway they’re a quartet hailing from Le Havre and up on their my space player you’ll find four scuzzed out tripping nuggets that to these ears appear to have emerged from some late 60’s psychedelic haze and found themselves drop kicked forty years into the future a tad dishevelled and wig flipped and blessed with a remit to warp your minds eye. From the arabesque swirls of the hypnotic and exotic sounding transcendental tonalities of the fringe parting ’Swami’ with its coiling sitar silhouettes and drug fuelled intoxica to the freakishly twang-tastic tail feather turn on that is ’beaver patrol’ with its primitive fuzz scowled hip shimmies and liberal festooning of key drenches – Les Synapses drill their grooves in a vintage gasp of lo-fi glazed garage beat minimalism that suggests these cuties have been swamp dragged from a long lost one off legendary mid 60’s session tape that been left to long in the Californian sun drying out only to be boxed up and left unloved and cowering in a dark dank attic. Best of the set by some distance though is a killer cover version of Zappa and the others ’Suzie Creamcheese’ replete with primitive dream-scapes, mind melting overtures and hallucinogenic halos – just love the Meek meets Roky take off moment mid way through – stunning in a word.

Teddy and his Patches…

The lollipop shoppe…..

The droogs….


Rasputin and the Mad Monks…..

Record Collector #367 – current issue of the highly informative record collecting resource offers a chance to purchase what will be the first release of a newly proposed ongoing vinyl only re-issue set in collaboration with Secret records. Numbers are strictly limited in order to accommodate all who wish to participate – hence if only one punter is interested then only one copy will be pressed etc…each release will be cut from the original masters onto 180 gm wax, include original labels and each coming replete with a numbered certificate of authenticity. The plan initially is to re-release lost gems that first appeared on the legendary and highly sought after organ Blue Town label – proposals are afoot to do said treatments on rare releases by the likes of Orange Bicycle, Will Malone, the Smoke and Red Dirt – for now though the inaugural outing will see a welcomed vinyl repress for ’pussy plays’ by Pussy. Elsewhere in this particular issue there’s an extended feature marking the forthcoming Beatles re-master release schedule with an in depth conversation with project co-ordinator Allan Rouse while avid Beatles obsessive Joachim Noske is subjected to the spotlight treatment by the Collector. Tinkerbell Fairydust have their legendary withdrawn s/t full length studied under the microscope while Linda and Richard Thompson are summoned in for a brief chat to mark a RT forthcoming box set, then there’s A-ha and Woodstock to contend with while label of love features Compunctio who to much embarrassment we must admit to never having come across as yet – the key wording here being ’as yet’ – oh yea a most curious moment is revisited courtesy of Rockin the Box upon the occasion of Grace Jones visiting God’s Country which in case you haven’t already sussed for yourselves is Liverpool – the moment captured by ITV’s magazine show ‘Celebration’ just two days after Lennon’s assassination. – no prizes for guessing why we zeroed in on these cute things – with a nae like Ol’ Cunts how could we honestly resist. Another French based combo would you believe this time hailing from Paris who by all accounts appear to have only gotten together quite recently. Reference wise they sit somewhere between a more tamed and playful Anti Nowhere League and Billy Bragg wiring together three chord agit throbs and terrace chanting oi oi styled nuggets none more so is this case than on the opening salvo ‘you’re a victim’ wherein we do detect nods in the general direction of the Redskins while elsewhere ’disgrace’ has more than a whiff of Billy Childish about its wares as well as Secret era Chron Gen which is a thing much admired around these here parts. That said our favoured moment is the scalding Leatherface meets Angelic Upstarts pogo fuelled ’my mates’. Currently unsigned – won’t stay like that for long. nuff said.

Implosion Quintet ‘I don’t hear a single’ EP (cookshop). We swear we’ve featured these folks in previous despatches, that said alas we can’t recall for certain whether we’ve heard their recent debut full length set ‘the future sound of yesterday’ – constant searchers to ensure its not about our person have so far proven fruitless. Not to worry as we have this rather disarming four track EP to content ourselves with. Not strictly out for another month or so the Implosion Quintet are not a quintet at all but just one person – a genre tinkering soul by the name of James Baker who these days can be found residing in Norway. Over the course of nearly a decade Mr Baker has been weaving and cobbling by candle light his own selective home brew of beguiling aural scripts, blending a personalised taste pedigree procured from elements of jazz, tango, rock and proggy electronics he has crafted a musical world unlike anything currently orbiting pop’s vast cosmos. Four brand spanking new tracks feature within on this EP that serve first and foremost to compliment the aforementioned full length while similarly serving notice as to Baker’s growing confidence. A mercurial landscape lies in wait for the would be visitor, the set opens to the noir tweaked Chandler’s Marlowe relocated to a pre Cold War Russia ’jalopy peppers’ – a gorgeously arranged spy themed regal waltz clipped with a Parisian aura sumptuously gridlocked by a shanty – esque bathing that seductively thins and dissipates into moments of mysterious magnetic operatic ghostliness. ‘(don’t) quack the duck’ – admittedly our favourite moment of the set is a cornucopia of strange delights fleshed out by the feint dapples of Dickensian swirls, down tempo grooves and wig flipped prog rock eccentrics – reference wise its roots embark on a would be odyssey pre-ordained by a seriously tripped out Discordia sharing notes with a particularly potent Ozric Tentacles, the way it flutters in and out of consciousness is something of an entrancing beauty that frankly needs to be heard as soon as. The snake charming and sultry ‘wires and lights’ belies the self same intoxicating lull of the Owl Service’s ‘cine’ EP albeit as though they’d set their viewfinder on the soundtrack work of Barry and Komeda while ‘the waterous device’ wraps up matters not before instilling within you a sense of unfettered enchantment by way of its ethereal mantras, lulling fretwork, orbiting oscillations, succulent string detailing and moments of sine wave wobbling Radiophonic Workshop patterns. One I suspect for fans of those Freak Zone chaps at 6Music.

And here’s the video to accompany ‘jalopy peppers’…. – hailing from the Rennes territories of France, alas we don’t have any information as to who exactly Mr Bonz one man band is though he reliably tells us that he sings, plays drums and strums guitar all at the time which for those of us whose idea of multi tasking is sitting there coffee in one, cigarette in the other, listening to music through headphones whilst watching a video and reading and lest we forget writing up reviews (shove a broom up our back pipe and we’ve been known to brush floors) is something to be admired. The sounds cultured in those halcyon days of ice cream parlours, drive ins and hulking gas guzzling motors with ostentatious flying v wings while in dear old blighty it was ration books and rickets – of course it’s the 50’s to which we refer. Flanked by the ghosts of Ronnie Dawson and Gene Vincent that crazy wild cat Bonzo kicks out a vibrant wig flipping boog-a-loo of primitive rockabilly fayre, from the saucy n’ sassy whip cracking galloping frenz of ’betty lou’ to the extraordinary native American mantras of the rain dancing ’J. Gerinimo’ though our favoured moment is the coolly shimmering reverb soaked ’gimme a woman’ where we swear we hear the subtle spirit of Johnny Burnette gracing the grooves. – we here are much loving and indeed fond of this here my space utility – I mean how on earth would we have come across the bone rattling primitive grooving of Japan’s the fly and his one man garbage where it not for the ability to hop skip and jump through a fair few select detours in search of bands with curious names with which to warm the cockles of our heart. And warm the cockles of our heart this lot did – though on reflection I’m guessing that they aren’t a they but a he – by the name of – wait for it – Money Child – who by way of the dimmed lights of some of Japan’s more keenly hip and trendy underground spots can often be found plying his trade on stage alongside the trusted burlesque routines of a certain Miss Tarantula – alas disappointingly no videos chaps feat La Tarantula but a quick cut off in its prime slice of live footage below. Anyhow obviously named in honour of the Cramps and replete with fly mask – don’t even ask – Money Child or the Fly and his one man garbage does a particularly neat line in primitively turned death rattled coffin blues boogie. Three cuts feature on this my space player all dust bowled howls from the fabled blues crossroads, a toe tapping feast of lo-fi stained fuzzed n’ scuzzed parched buckled blues beauties dinked with delta scowls and a swamp dragged melee of primal and pre-natural 50’s rock ‘n roll echoes who reference markers utter the names of Feathers, Vincent, Cochran and Perkins whilst casting beyond to the likes of RL Burnside, Mojo Nixon (especially ‘house moss‘), Reverend Horton Heat, Seasick Steve and of course it goes without saying – early career Cramps – it really is something else – pardon the pun – the side winding sun scarred and thread bare speaker trashing cutie ’devil inside blues’ proving to be the best of the pack. Guaranteed it won’t be the last you’ll hear of the Fly in these pages if we have anything to do with it.

That promised though criminally truncated video culled fro a Lux Interior tribute night in Tokyo last June….

And that’s it for a day or so. As usual deep felt gratitude to all those somehow involved however small in the preparation of this particular missive and to you for taking time out to read said musings. For updates check out – forthcoming features will see mentions in the coming days for albums by the Scratch, the Bordellos, Soriah and the Circulatory System. While your there also check out our weekly play list.

Till next time take good care of yourselves.


aired – 30th August 2009

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