Tales from the Attic
Revolutions of a 45 and 33 kind….
No wordy introductions here this time, mainly for the fact that we can’t think of anything worthwhile saying except to say that this particular missive might feel a little Fruits de Mer top heavy – of course always a treat around these here parts but on this occasion I think they’ve done themselves proud and perhaps issued their best seasonal soiree to date in not only bringing Tir Na Nog to a more appreciable audience but also through sheer bloody-minded and persistence unearthed what might have been one of music’s great lost gems in the release of Tor-Peders debut full length. Craig Padilla’s mammoth ‘Sonar’ is best described as a three way star configuration earthed upon the celestial orbs of tangerine dream, Vangelis and jean michel jarre, whilst dare we forget to mention a classic comeback from one of our personal favourites of times gone by – Astralasia – who set is a hulking musical tab dropping mystic card ride to the beyond of the third eye. Fear not kids its not all Fruits grooves loitering here – there’s the absolute bollock dropping debut from Alien Whale who will be breaching these shores shortly to appear at Supersonic – their even looking at a quick gig in Liverpool end of May if anyone can sort. Many thanks to Sean for mailing out the sound cloud link for the Elwins latest while Reka and the Pussywarmers have dropkicked one of the best albums we’ve had the pleasure of hearing thus far this year. There’s some bad assed boogie from biscuit mouth which frankly needs to be heard – album coming soon, while those preferring their pop trimmed pristinely ought to head dive for the penelopes……..as to the rest aw hell just read the blighter and get your head turned by the tastiest tunes smoking out of speakers near you. There’ll be another of these in a day or two while the one after will be heavily weighted in Cardinal Fuzz grooves that is if Dave remembers our email and messages the blighters over…..
Full play list this missive…….
Craig Padilla, Astralasia, Tir Na Nog, Tor-Peders, the penelopes, alien whale, biscuit mouth, pusswarmers and reka, the elwins, foxhound, buttering trio, john 3:16, kronofonika, ryan campos, cranio
Our day (yesterday) as you can probably gather, if you tune into our face book updates, had not gone strictly according to plan, we’ve shelved the Fruits de Mer and Cardinal Fuzz releases till tomorrow – which by the way if your not reading this in reel time means they are coming later this missive. Frankly its been a day of killer releases dropping our way – started off with Noblesse Oblige then proceeded through to yip deceiver, kaukasus and sweet apple and ended matters with something damn fine from biscuit mouth and the puss warmers (with Reka) – between all this we took time out to tune into a spot of classic Tony Hancock via BBC 4xtra – ‘the smugglers’ episode in case you were wondering and wallowed in a new BBC Radio 4 adaptation of ’wuthering heights’ which though midway through is well worth investigating via the BBC radio player. And then came Alien Whale. Bugger me. This is the deal. Debuting 10 inch imminent via care in the community records – this will blow wigs clean off. A Brooklyn based three piece tour de force pooling together the talents of Mottel, Langenus and Lesley who between day time jobs in Talibam, USAISAMONSTER and Neckling possess a collective resume that cites past involvement with such luminaries as Thursten Moore, Jeffrey Pierce, the Boredoms, Rhys Chatham and the Fluxus movement. Alien Whale was formed to afford them the chance to return to their roots and re-engage their love for free form rock. Okay I sense a groan or three here, you are thinking perhaps a self immersed excuse for three dudes to noodle about and cobble out something unmistakable and still get kudos by referring to it as ’sound art’ or some other such descriptor. Frankly – as far from the reality as you could imagine. ‘astral projections and suicidal thoughts’ opens the set in blazing form, a feral and grinding blues boogie head diving into mammoth and monolithic kraut quadrants that some of your more familiar and acclaimed space cadet names operating in similar territories may do well to take note and learn lessons from. A head locking hypnotic trip scalped in scalding white hot locked grooving that manages to shoehorn a whole host of reference markers as it bends the generic divides moulding smoked out 60’s stoner vibes with mutant jazz funk boog-a-loo and wiring the sonic meltdown into a key laced psychotropic brain fryer that admirers of everything from Blue Cheer to Neu! will dig. Proving they’re not quite your one trick pony ’space boots foots to foots’ provides another formidable speaker splintering slab of big bearded heads down primordial beatnik blistered rock-a-hula though finds itself eclipsed by the sets pride of the pack. Heading home just shy of the 10 minute mark is the colossal ’Anointus Venomous Atlanticus’ – alone worthy of the entrance fee – a hulking cosmic magic carpet ride rippled in kaleidoscopic hazes and succulently awash in the transcendental calm of arabesque mirages, all at once woozy, mystical and just out there and gone, it’s a brain frying third eye head trip afloat on astral oceans – in short a kind of krautrockian ’sailing by’ for lost psyched out lunar cadets. Absolutely essential.
A cheery sun teased charmer which by rights ought to be the perfect reason for swooning bouts among those shy eyed types among you clutching preciously to your prized Sarah assorted record collection and who’ve lain awake at night dreaming up secret lists of sonic scenarios featuring your fave bands in various what if settings – such as – for arguments sake – what if they might be giants had the appeared on the adored kitchenware imprint in the early 80’s. well you can tick that one off your list for the Elwins have pretty much nailed that up on ‘sittin pretty’. again culled from their acclaimed debut full length for affairs of the heart, the quartet are currently applying the top coat finishing to their second album – release date and title as yet unknown, rest assured if it sounds remotely as tasty as this it’ll be getting fond words aplenty for this honey comes serenaded in a chirping chime riffage and the kind of tenderised MOR breeziness that radiates with such feel good effervescence it’s a wonder that these dudes haven’t been contracted by a major pharmaceutical to bottle its essences and sell over the counter as a pick me up tonic. Alas no sound links just yet.
Update – many thanks to Sean over at Mutante for sorting this…….
Sounding as though its been suspended upon a surreal dream weaving Lynchian carousel, new single ’sunrise’ from the Pussywarmers and Reka is a seductively haunting Meek mirage that’s crookedly woozy and deliciously off centred not to mention inscribed with the kind of craft you’d rightly refer to as a classic in waiting.
Just a very brief mention for this before we power down for the evening…‘destined for pepsi chart number 1, naturally’ proclaims a short introductory message from Sean and Tim of Biscuit Mouth, if only – I’d certainly revisit my radio on a more regular basis were it the case. These dudes hail from Derby and have an album ’doing it right, doing it well’ lurking in reserve with ’roll into the dancer’ sent ahead on a scouting mission. In short the kind of acrid agit groove that the likes of brew, on the bone and gringo used to fly our way before we fell off their mailing lists and something which by rights ought to be high on the listening radar of admirers of part chimp et al as well as those among you well versed in old school Touch n’ Go grooves – in short three and a half minutes of potently spiked bastardised blues curdled in feral and fried detuned riffola and spazzed out motifs – does it for us.
Simply adored this lots remix of the Cure’s ‘just like heaven’ (see Tales from the Attic – #34), now fresh from that (having hit the heady heights of #5 on the hype machine chart) the Penelopes return to the fray to demur and delight discerning dansettes with a spot of 80’s electro pop time tripping courtesy of their pour le monde imprint released ‘time to shine’. the source inspiration for the song was according to the press blurb ‘a desire to strive for something better and to discover the optimism in the most desperate of circumstances’ – something which we clearly ascribe to here though sadly to floundering results. A bit of a pocket rocket this, as said all trimmed in the radiating glow of 80’s electro effervescence and a tad teased to a pristine pop acuteness that mainlines directly to the stormy eye of a hulking sound clash embarked upon by white rose movement and a melodically muscular minded Human League. Dust the blighter in a trimming of star glazed nocturnally hued euro pop chic all fired upon an 80’s Moroder matrix and you have yourself a pulse racing lunar laced stand against adversity that ought to sit neatly next to those prized Noblesse Oblige platters. http://www.soundcloud.com/thepenelopes/timetoshine
Absolutely no information on this lot except to say they’ve been described by Clash as ‘superb’ which as far as one word summations go is about as perfect as it gets. Anyhow this is arriving in record land next week via Raw Tapes by Buttering Trio entitled ‘toast’ – we’ve only just briefly scanned through the tracks for a sneak tasting but bugger me this is ticking all the boxes – especially if you love your trip hop charmed in down tempo sophistication and smoked in seductive torch noir trims, in truth opening cut ’mean to me’ does it for us imagining a seriously woozy and on the mark ROC crafting lights dimmed Massive Attack mosaics whilst freebasing on the coolly sultry grooves of the tummy touch and touch tones imprints – yet fast forward through the set and you’ll be subdued and seduced by this lots shape shifting weird and warped tropicalia sonic feast. So to get you warmed up the label have made available free the robots remix of ’no joke’ as a free to download for you to get all jiggy with as its lulling subtronic dub draped ethereal sophisticat moves work their slyly seductive funk wooziness on you. Rest assured begging missives have been dispatched to secure review copies….so expect more fondness to come.
And so back with Alrealon Musique – loosely anyway – think we’re okay posting this for public consumption, a new play list put together by in demand videographer Jan Swinburne featuring twelve mind melting salvos split between three artists – John 3:16, Ryan Campos and Kronofonika. First up John 3:16 here serviced by way of three cuts two of which familiar here – ‘obey God’ and ‘God is light’ but it’s the first ‘the divine healer’ that I’m suspecting has thus far escaped our radar. A slowly unfurling mystic murmur coiled upon an hypnotically lulling and syncopating beat and woozily hazed in divinely super chilled arabesque mirages that snake charm seductively whilst dimpled in softly dissipating psychotropic opines. Previously unknown to us, the work of Ryan Campos is showcased here by 8 tracks the best of which – or at least the one that immediately caught our ear – being ’sounds from a dream I had’ – which unless ears do deceive is longingly draped in the kind of unworldly celestial grace that one suspects it might be some heavenly aural apparition from the beyond touched upon by an angelic hand. Again new to us, kronofonika drops ’the printed becomes the printed’ – a binary blitz cored slab of monochromatic skree scarred frequency manipulation which ought to prick the listening lobes of those attuned to the wares of the Scotch Tapes, Nihil Underground and love torture imprints and something from which beneath the main surface sonic scouring a secondary sound source flickers hidden from immediate earshot pulsing away unperturbed by the busying caustic collapse above it. http://www.soundcloud.com/theswinburne_complex/sets/video-tribe
A much appreciated message from Luca of Italo noise niks .Cranio. was a much welcomed surprise as were the feral sounds found on a link he enclosed of the bands debut full length entitled – er – ‘debut’. No sooner had we gotten over the delicious distraction that is the opening salvo, the face poking stutter grooved ‘there is a problem’ – a wiring bad dude that seesaws precariously between agit art pop and gridlocked math rock gouging, then we found ourselves going ga ga to the shock treated antics of the schizoid and psychotic ’I like fishin’ – which had we not known any better would have gambled our possessions that it was a wayward outcast from the Pixies ‘Doolittle’ sessions such is its fried and clearly erratic n’ demented persona. So while we send begging letters to secure copies of said album here’s the band – well duo as it happens – caught live at the Festival S. Maria dell Versa doing bad blues ju-ju including a take of both ’there is a problem’ and ’I like fishin’…..
And so to the spring / early summer seasonal collection from the hugely admired Fruits de Mer sound house, 4 new ultra limited releases all due for despatch late May / early June – the keen eyed among you may note the absence of the planned Simones single – fear not as it seems its been delayed until the summer. So without further ado……
Much to my own embarrassment our listening world has thus far somehow managed carry on spinning apace without ever having encountered Ireland’s Tir Na Nog. Well that was the case until that is the arrival of a promo featuring four cuts that’ll find themselves genteelly pressed upon coloured wax grooves for the adored Fruits de Mer imprint shortly. A short potted history of Messrs Condell and O’Kelly – they be Tir Na Nog – reads thus. Formed and signed to Chrysalis in 1970 they recorded and released three highly acclaimed albums in the blink of an eye, admired by Peel for whom they were invited to record several legendary sessions, the duo proved to be a support draw for the likes of Roxy, Jethro Tull and the Who (such disparate associations gives hint at the duo’s acute ability to defy easy categorization). Going their separate ways in ’74 the duo reunited in the mid 80’s playing on home soil and buoyed by the reception received for their UK visits in 2010 the love affair continues afoot. An admirable coup on the part of FdM to get these dudes on side (and I should not the first coup this batch of releases). Due to hit record store racks late May, the first of FdM’s spring season collection is a much anticipated release. The set comes headed up by a sublime rephrasing of the Silver Apples’ ’I have known love’ (the original appearing on the ’Apples legendary and pioneering ’contact’ set – upon the sparse framing of the original the duo delicately colour this lost gem in the warming caress of soft psyche hues drizzled in Celtic mosaics, the effect softly intoxicating and lilting and surrendering aglow in a fondly reflective sun setting that sweetly sighs to the ghosting tonalities once bequeathed by a youthful pre disco Bee Gees and a ‘paisley, sage, rosemary and thyme’ era Simon and Garfunkel. The captivating pastoral ‘you in yellow’ is a gorgeously woven aural love note fondly recalling a romantic moment between a couple while ‘I pick up birds at funerals’ is a bit of a curio muscularly threaded with a knowing soft psych fuzzy strut. That said best of the pack by some distance is the utterly captivating and spell crafted ’the Angelus’ whose bewitching tapestry is traces back to a lost song craft rooted deep in folks long and illustrious consciousness and might well prove simultaneously prove to be something of particular interest to those much admiring of the Soft Hearted Scientists. If you happen to lucky enough to grab a hold of a promo CD of the release you’ll find an additional 5th cut that missed the final pressing edit due to the limited capabilities afforded by vinyl. A delicately demurring beauty ’Andria’ is old school song craft honed at its finest, dimpled in MOR motifs and ageless at that, its possessed of that breezily airy care freeness that these days attaches easily to the work of Paddy McAloon and with that well worth a diligent hunt around the auction sites trying to secure a copy of to hear. Comes housed in a linen effect sleeve on coloured vinyl in limited quantities.
You’d better skin up a fat one, buckle yourselves in and don your third eye visors for the return of turntable turn on dudes Astralasia. I’ll be honest. Of all the releases featured in the latest stash of Fruits de Mer grooves this has been the one I’ve been most looking forward to. Word of future Astralasia happenings has been high on the whisper vibe following their surprise – and dare I say – hugely enjoyable appearance of the Fruits de Mer 2014 annual – the deal being given the blessing by Magick Eye head honcho Chris Hillman and sealed by Marc Swordfish’s love of vinyl and the whole concept behind Fruits de Mer. Six instrumental head trips in total feature on ‘wind on water’ – 4 on the actual album plus two on a bonus 7 inch which couldn‘t be squeezed due to groove space limitations with 2 of the cuts dating back to 2006. The set comes pressed up on clear vinyl and features a two piece optical effect outer sleeve which when put together magically disappears. In the words of Swordfish ’wind on water’ is a return to recording values first established on their early cassettes ’…through jams, without being sample led….more organic, free situation’. utilising a broad sonic spectrum that freewheels, mutates and fuses to a mind weaving smorgasbord of ambient arcs, motorik mechanisms, dream drifts and eastern mosaics, ‘wind of water’ seamlessly navigates the aural astral planes. The serenely bliss toned kraut cooled ’Rangoon’ opens proceedings, softly stirred in lilting lunar swathes and murmured in milky glacial orbs its possessed of the kind of trance grooved out there vocabulary that one would imagine being crafted by a latter career Spacemen 3 cosied up to Discordia and set adrift in faraway cosmic paradises upon a hyper galactic jet rocket navigated by La Dusseldorf. Title track the hazy ’wind on water’ is the first of two extended workouts, a 15 minute spellbinding slice of sultry exotica clipped in a deeply demurred mesmeric hypno-grooving built upon a hulking floor rumbling n’ chilled out dub dipped bass gouge a la Dreadzone all woozily weaved in mystical arabesque charms, which at the 5 minute mark shed their skin to emerge psychotropically enhanced casting krautronik shapes from out of bliss kissed cosmic hues to shape up like a Slipstream styled lock grooved lunar juggernaut. ‘cresta run’ continues the hyperreal ride, an intoxicating slow smouldered trip that for the best part sound not unlike its basked in the aural afterglow of Bowie’s ‘loving the alien’ though here clearly invested and imparted with a Floydian meets System 7 mellowness. On the 7 inch you’ll find the epic dust dry spiritual ‘the desert’ – harmonicas, pianos and a killer snake winding riff twang endow this with the kind of magnificent full on panoramic grandeur that these days greets releases by John 3:16 and pretty much circumnavigates worlds once upon visited by jah wobble and the invaders of the heart with just a little tasting of ry cooder for full on effect. Over on the flip of the seven inch sits ‘continuim’ – a return to reality from higher states you could call it – more out of body abstractia I’m afraid, atmospheric and dipped ever so slightly in the kind of vapour trailing sonic seasoning that often came seducing platters and cassettes alike bearing the name Ozric Tentacles upon them. Best moment of the set all said is the truly bonged out ‘the innosence’ – last encountered in these pages when we took a brief peak at the labels limited ‘Mayfish’ sampler, a glorious psychotropic tapestry traversing the inner voids of the third eye and something which aside being shimmered in the hazily glazed surrealist floral dream mirages found threaded upon those Chris Morris ‘blue room’ adventures, should find love and adoration as well as a fitting home in record collections festooned with Delirium label delights. Totally out there and tripping.
Another ensemble mentioned briefly in passing when they turned up on that rare as hen’s teeth ‘Mayfish’ sampler are Swedish psychedelicists Tors-Peders. Their album ‘brevan fran ederstorp’ was nearly consigned to the vaults and lost to the enquiring ears of pop listening purists following the death of their founder Jonas. Hats off though to the persistence of Keith over at Fruits de Mer in persuading the remaining members to revisit and gather together all the available recordings, dusting them down for this quite remarkable and special release. Again as with previous FdM content this comes limited to just 500 pressings – all on clear vinyl comprised of – as with the Astralasia outing – an album and bonus single all housed in a by all accounts attractive looking gatefold sleeve. Where to start on this 8 track feast – seems the best place might be the aforementioned previously cited ’L’espirit d’escaliere’ which as it happens closes the set (the flip off the single if your splitting hairs) though not before imbuing upon your listening space a gorgeously woven lazy eyed slice of sophisticat intoxica which beneath its sumptuous outer psych prog lounge shelling cools the kind of mellowing mercurial craft that’s perfect for sound tracking the fall off sultry days into evensong whilst simultaneously drawing musically upon something that draws the invisible dots between Procul Harum and John Barry. In short ’brev fran ederstorp’ is a deceptively rewarding album, repeat listens revealing something anew and previously missed on each visitation. Here you’ll be greeted to the psychedelicised freak beat happening that is ’tema ett (theme one)’ – originally by George Martin and as it happens the same cut covered by the much adored Schizo Fun Addict on FdM’s debuting 7 inch platter though here sounding as though its been shoehorned into the head warping sonic trip tumble dryer of a ‘bad orb….whirling ball’ era Walking Seeds. In sharp contrast and kicking out to a grinding Dick Dale growl ‘aye makami’ is your killer twang-tastic turn on replete with spurs and spaghetti western montages strutting to a shape cutting groove reminiscent of those dudes shadowy men on a shadowy planet and classic era Shadows c. ‘man of mystery’. those fancying some wigged out kaleidoscopic shoe shuffling Hammond drenched 60’s shimmer toning might do well to set stylus’ for stun on the clearly frazzled fringe parting boog-a-loo that is the freaky ‘sloshing I c-moll’ which as far as we can tell takes the Zombies ‘she’s not there’ as its central reference marker and feeds it into the smoke induced hallucinogenic sonic cruncher of the Doors. Clocking in just shy of the 11 minute mark the progian ’incident vid domsted’ provides the albums centrepiece, majestic, poised and elegantly graceful unfurling from out of a starting point chilled in stilled spectral atmospherics which once evaporated seductively assume something of a bliss kissed jazz tinged lunar lounge trip a la Embryo in a face off with Bill Laswell – an absolutely smoking slab of trancey dreaminess whilst admittedly much loved here ‘signed tp’ is your slow to burn mooching John Barry wooziness. Essential I’m afraid.
Those with fairly good memories may well recall us going gaga at the appearance in our gaff of the first five volumes of the strange fish sub imprint. In short a micro space dedicated to sounds, artists and styles somewhat falling outside the usual sonic specifics of fruits de mer and its sister label regal crabomophone. This hulking introduction to the label was set across twelve sides of heavy duty vinyl with an additional CD’s worth of cosmic dream logika specially gathered for those who bought the entire collection as one and featured 29 artists / bands / sound sculpturers. It was a massive statement from the label shifting them out of their aural comfort zone, yet simultaneously extending their sound spectrum beyond the strict confines of psych, folk, progressive and krautrock to explore the sonic sub strata existing between the gaps. One of the undoubted highlights of the collection was the whole side of volume one which was devoted to two tracks from Craig Padilla. A year on and Mr Padilla is afforded the luxury of having 4 sides of wax on which to work on courtesy of strange fish‘s 6th volume. Upon them a near two hour odyssey in the shape of a collection carefully drawn from Mr Padilla’s vast back catalogue, a body of work reflecting nearly two decades of sonic exploration, not merely slapped together but seamlessly threaded into one massive hyper gliding spacewalk. Entitled ’Sonar’, Padilla takes you on a cosmic trip for a pure electronic lunar ride both mesmerising and meditative. Utilising old school analogue synths, ’Sonar’ provides a back to future’s past exploring and paying homage to the kosmiche sounds of electronicas golden age – the 70’s – in short pure brain food. Perfect for those purists among you who these days are still attracted like moths to light to new school labels like bureau b and black sweat. Seven headphonic delights and astral voyages sit within, Padilla’s navigatory compass pointing towards the woozier outer spheres of cosmic rocks vast nebula principally triangulated by three main reference markers those being – the panoramic / filmic / soundtrack detailing of Vangelis, the pop minded melodically astute artistry of Jean Michel Jarre and the floaty unworldly dream dipped cerebral soundscapes of Tangerine Dream. Previously visited upon when it appeared as a taster on the aforementioned Mayfish sampler set, ’challenge deep’ is an exploratory cruise controlled voyager piloted by Vangelis, curvaceously tempered in bliss kissed oceanic opines and caressed in spaceous ambient expanses liberally festooned in starry garlands and mellowed in milky way mosaics. Elsewhere Padilla’s awareness of space, texture and mood is brought to the fore on the divinely mellowed and sleepy headed pulsar that is ‘cosmic dawn’ – here sumptuously bedded upon a murmuring motorik footing and shimmered in what can only be described as a deeply alluring aquatic dream coat. ’behind the lightning’ is made of darker stuff, here the mood drops a degree or two, still touched and slipstreamed in those now trademark amorphous super structures, there’s a sense of melancholic loss permeating and a hollowing futility that very much tunes into the sonic arteries of John Carpenter and the kind of bleak futurism of ‘the terminator’ and to which sounds not unlike oblique distress transmissions from a long since dead lunar outpost. All said the main attraction comes with the brace of epic cuts found lurking on sides three and four – where sit the 2 hugely expansive 20 minute plus solar symphonies – ‘Sonar’ and ‘awaken to the dream’. the former a wonderfully lushly toned and playful orbital odyssey clipped in the kind of funky after burns and possessed of the kind of lights lowered lounge-y sophisticat splendour that seductively plays tag with 90’s aural alchemists Banco de Gaia and yet simultaneously head dives into the kind of terrains still these days ventured upon by the likes of electro kraut pioneer Dieter Moebius. It is however ‘awaken to a dream’ that provides the set with its defining centrepiece, a hulking galactic day dream mirage rippling in cavernous delights and ice sculptured mosaics, a star lit harmony of the spheres softly daubed in spectral swathes and journeying towards the airless voids of the beyond, elegant, elegiac and utterly captivating.
I must admit and put my hands up in saying hat I initially missed this one, one of those releases whose attaching press release bears absolutely no relation or gives no indication as to the sounds within. Foxhound be their name, a Turin based quartet who’ve been hotly tipped and critically acclaimed in their homeland of late following glowing reception heaped upon their debuting ‘Concordia’ set. Set across eleven tracks ‘in primavera’ sees that crucial self released difficult second album emerging and with it the pangs of expectancy and all that promise shown on their debut brings. No need to worry then as this lot despite their tender years – all aged 21 – sound like past masters well versed in the skills of crafting melodic pop nuggets at the drop of a hat which rather than going down the avenue of brash skinny jean upstarts prefer to populate their sonic spectrum in the art of seduction. Radiating effervescence these love notes comes hardwired upon a sumptuously infectious disco dinked punk funk grooving that had we known better, at times veer ever so cleverly to some smoked fusion drawn together of Aztec Camera meets Radio 4 essences as evidenced on the sun coaxing breezily jitterbug sprayed mirror ball murmured ‘erase me’. elsewhere ’I just don’t mind’ is dimpled in all manner of dub drilled haloes and electro shocked with the kind of irresistibly cool alt core swagger that used to at one time or another smoulder the grooves of releases bearing the name the seal cub clubbing club upon their hide (likewise goes for the subtronic art pop dashing found on the mooching ’my life is so cool’ unto which the merest rubbing of mansun-esque motifs merge) while the psychotropic ’out’ bears more than a passing nod to the much missed Jesus Jones though here sedated in Eastern vibes. For us though nothing quite comes close to the mercurial tonalities of the teasingly brief ’Gasuli’ and ‘that’s the sky’ – the former upon which whose sepia shrouded framing is sat a spectral noir grandeur hollowed in melancholia that summons to its torn tapestry elements of Serge, Pulp and Rialto while the latter traverses the kind of outsider environs that only the Crimea dare visit.
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As ever take care of yourselves…..xx
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