archiv: singled out missive 200 (i)..

missive 200 (i)
Singled Out
‘surrounded in sound’

The Amateurs ‘Homesick’ (the animal farm). Annoyingly and not withstanding all manner of attempts being procured in order to find an adequate medium with which to prize the tunes locked within the grooves of this release we here are still no nearer having the faintest clue what the attending flip cuts to this (‘London sky‘ which incidentally we did get playing only for it to mysteriously die half way through not before that is revealing itself to be something of a softly radiating slice of radiantly joyful pop with trimmings of World Party to boot – ‘mystery thing’ – just in case you were taking notes) – the latest release – from the hotly tipped combo The Amateurs sounds like, which is a fair old shame considering the lead out ‘homesick’ is one of those best described slow to grow affairs. A mellowing thing that tenderly tweaks at the heart strings and finds itself delicately drilled with the kind of melodic framing that suggests it should be clocking up considerable mileage on drive time radio shows up via this fair nations broadcasting stations. Its all dainty easy listening, drifting and airy soft rock pop blessed with a quite desirable chorus twist that through repeat listens insidiously makes it hooks into your psyche to have you annoyingly whistling like a bad ‘un just when you least expect while simultaneously proving itself to be something that admirers of the Tacticians may easily find themselves swooning to.

The Anomalies ‘margarita’ (beyond music). Last time out they were terrorising our ear lugs and sending the in house hi-fi into moments of frenzied delirium with the frankly unstoppable ‘old skool’ (see missive 190). Between then and now there’s been an album ‘free soup social’ which as you’d probably gather from the hinting title is a prime packed potently infectious brew of genre munching party sounds from which this second single ‘margarita’ is culled. Here the impish Hereford based upstarts Sam and Murf seem intent on squeezing your pips until they pop while spooning out a canvas of sounds fused from an array of reference points that to these ears at times sound not unlike an army of beer swilling skanking Cossacks on some sort of misguided 18-30 travel deal to Morocco and packing a mother of a beat box banging out a crookedly infectious tapestry of intoxicating fez frying scratchin hip hop humping groove mashed up with discarded Basement Jaxx’s routines and wonky spacey sci-fi swirls. Irresistible by our reckoning.

Tom Waits ‘Lucinda / ain’t goin down to the well’ (Anti). Better get your arses rather smartish along to your local independent record emporium if you want one of these because by all accounts this is one of a number of one off releases to herald what has been (today) record day. Culled from the Edinburgh and Atlanta shows as part of last years acclaimed ‘Glitter and Doom’ tour. We here must admit we’re having something of a Waits time here having gotten hold of a copy of Barney Hoskins ‘lowside of the road – a life of Tom Waits’ tome which despite being nigh on a hundred or so pages in it still seems to us that for all his investigative prowess and techniques involving water torture, sleep deprivation and other such like that Mr Waits is proving to be the most evasive of subjects. Anyhow this limited edition release is worth the entrance fee alone just to hear the great man knocking out ‘bottom of the world’ which here sounds so bashed, bruised and bent out of shape that you feel as though you just woken up, found yourself in a gutter head down in a pool of vomit and suffering flashbacks of yourself the night before in a fog of drunken oblivion undergoing some serious heart to heart with a bottle of bourbon or three while precariously perched and hanging to a bar.

Narration ‘miracle’ (exploding light). Getting daft this now – another gem like release – where the hell are they all coming from we wonder – some water tampering perhaps. I’m certain we’ve mentioned Narration in past despatches but will be buggered if we can find any referring links. Anyway Narration are a trio based in Twickenham an area I’m fairly familiar with given I worked down there for a number of years and a place that should you visit then we heartily recommend you pay a visit to the Munch Box for all your feeding requirements. Anyhow Narration have been deservedly picked up by the ever watchful gaze of Classic Rock which seems about right that they should given their sound lends itself somewhat to what can only be described as an emotion sapping mercurial majesty that makes a lie out of their youthful years. Two cuts feature here and a brace of senses choking grandeur you’ll find hard to match or equal on another release for a fair while to come, both stunningly accomplished, measured and treated with a superbly framed wide screen presence. ‘miracle’ the lead out cut is an anthem waiting for an event, equal parts erupting euphoric echoes, stratosphere piercing riffage, star crossed arpeggios, wounded bitter sweet corteges and very much soldered with a steely eyed Stateside appeal. Mind you it pails into the shade when compared to the flip cut ‘please show me the lights’. An eight minute tortured, tormented slab of tear driven gem, a lovelorn epic beautifully caressed with cantering Brontean cascades and deliciously equipped with a pulse racing breathlessness that veers between the purring and punishing whilst all the time sumptuously finding itself cast in an alluring head bowed stateliness that bands operating in similar emotionally torn territories may well grudgingly admire through enviable glances.

Okay young folk more essential ear frazzling entertainment from those reprobates over at – the latest two pod cast uploads feature show #25 from Sonic Nightmares and Radioblivion #36 – its all your usual dirty and deviant middle conservative moral baiting bad assed boogie from the dark and unseen secret universe of garage / freak beat, Sonic Nightmares finds itself hosted by a quartet of taste makers who armed with cobbled together nugget detectors have been out and about sourcing and searching out the most smoking, sexy and wig sizzling slabs of shindig this side of a fading Wolfman Jack broadcast, prepare to be turned on to the sounds of the amazing Staggers whose we will be seeking out for ourselves, a trio of treats from the Swiss based primitively grooved Voodoo Rhythm imprint whose wares you can view by going to I know we have and enviably so. Elsewhere there’s Kim Gordon’s Free Kitten revving the shit out of the Spex’ ‘oh bondage up yours’ while we are suspecting that like us you’ll be threatening all manner of harm if you don’t get further information on how to get hold of that Jap tape featuring Lightning Beat Man who does an admirable butchering of Eddy Cochran’s ‘c’mon everybody’. Michael Kaiser dusts down his platters, oils up the turntable, gives the dansette a damn good winding and fires up the tinny speakers for another hours worth of cross eyed fringe parting toe tapping foot stomping yabba yabba groove that’s medically proven to make you the coolest kid on the block, among the much marvelled morsels on parade wig flipped bop blasters from the likes of Creation, Cramps, Eyes, Little Willie, Oblivions, Proud Scum and a smattering of cuts from New Zealand scuzz lords Los Hories whose Aaron features courtesy of a specially recorded interview.

Cross Stitched Eyes ‘Coronach’ (Alternative Tentacles). Already the proud parents of a 7 inch for Ruin Nation and an album ‘Face 2 farce’ via Active, Californian trio mark their debuting release for Alternative Tentacles with the fierce some no nonsense ‘Coronach’. Boasting a line up that variously features ex members of UK Subs, Rudimentary Peni, the Subhumans, Smart Pills, Tourette Syndrome and Black Mass, ’Coronach’ is a shrink wrapped and welcoming slab of potently drilled gloom doomed agit heavy load bearing punk grind.

A quick glimpse at the titles alone ought to put you on alert that this isn’t going to be happy clappy party music, I mean ‘rot’, ‘mourn for life’ and ‘suffer’ aren’t your usual pretty pop flavouring (and yes it isn’t lost on us that three of the track titles make up their name – ‘Cross’ ‘Stitched’ and ‘eyes’ – thought I’d spell it out just in case you weren’t giving your full and undivided attention). ‘Coronach’ is acutely antagonistic and coded with a slavish stare you down menace, it features a combative sortie of fourteen grimly scowling cuties that despite its combined slender 32 minute duration is scarred and scathing with intolerant intent. Frankly just what the good doctor ordered because finitely secured amid these grooves there’s very much a discernible Brit influenced hardcore mechanics afoot here, the incessant front line armoury of frantically furious gridlocked powered and punishing three chord assaults and its whole end of days apocalyptic demeanour in its initial opening stages had us much recalling Secret era Chron Gen and a very youthful Leather face – the latter especially recalled on the spiked and spiteful head butting ’age of consumption’ with the former represented by ’rot’. But then scratch a little deeper and what’s revealed is an unmistakable affinity with Killing Joke – none more so is this the case than on the warring and sluggishly squalid ’Substance’ and ‘end’ whereon the former Jaz and Co’s chop chop accents are melded and moulded into a sickly thick no future goo that to these ears sounds like them happily drop kicking a ’Blizzard of Oz’ era Ozzy into touch while the latter frankly leaves you numbed with a dread filled chill.

Elsewhere those who prefer their studded belt pogo boogie delivered in the blink of an eye will do well to hook up to the caustic and nasty 30 second sharply acute no prisoners taking ’face’ while the sub one minute fury of ’birth of right’ has an air of a DNA cross match impishly at work fusing elements of Discharge with a rabid Dead Kennedy’s. then there’s the speed freaked up and at you viciousness of ’cast out’ to contend with as it sends your hi-fi speakers into meltdown with its velocity and whose sheer uncompromising stance is matched only by the demented and skewed ’eyes’. tell me exactly – how can you resist?
Key tracks –
‘Substance‘. ‘End‘. ‘Eyes‘.

Drifting in Silence ‘face within’ (Labile). Press release describes the sounds within as –

‘shimmering ambience’s driven by groove rhythms and punctuated by instrumental riffs and snatches of concrete sounds’.

Now keep that thought in mind.

Second full length from Derrick Stembridge (for it is he who is Drifting in Silence) following his debuting 2007 opus ‘Chameleon’ which incidentally we disappointingly missed here. And we here are not kidding when we note our disappointment because if this 5 track set (with an additional three guest remixes) is anything to judge by then it seems we missed out on a treat.

Based in Chicago, Drifting in Silence does indeed sculpture a compelling dream weaving ambient canvas and ’face within’ is indeed by our reckoning a release best enjoyed and savoured alone plugged into a set of headphones, the volume racked to maximum and with eyes closed so that you can view those strangely dissipating shapes that form behind the eyelids and imagine them as cosmically strewn night lights illuminating celestial voids with the sounds piping into your psyche acting as a colourfully vivid backdrop for the flight in hand.

If there’s any complaint to be made about this set its just a small one because I won’t bother having you believe that Mr Stembridge pushes the ambient envelope in any given direction because – he doesn’t.

Instead this brand of dark ambience is tweaked and twisted upon a framing of mid 80’s euro disko accents (the opening salvo ‘forever’ lending itself to detectable elements of Front 242) and industrial dialects all abridged and set upon a gothically grand wide screen mounting. Mood wise its all at once dreamy and detached, at times bleakly beautifully at others clinically sparse and ominously sterile, amid the star crossed liquid like loosely connected techno textures leviathan like swathes swirl and weave almost as though navigating some given deep space trajectory (especially on the lonesome motorik beat laced epically tear stained and frosted overtures of the stately and orbiting ‘coming up for air’). It’s a consuming and compulsive listening experience the reference markers pointing in the general location of the likes of Plaid, FSOL and Apollo 440 while the appearance of the apocalyptic touches throughout hark back to a familiar landscape carved by Gary Numan’s darkly manifesting ’Pure’ set especially on the title track – its something that’s brought into sharper perspective by the ‘her odd fist’ remix of ‘face within’. ‘coming up for air’. That said ‘virus’ momentarily breaks itself free of the shackles and for awhile could – if that is our ears do not deceive – pass for the more reflective moments from Porcupine Tree’s ‘stupid dream’ set gorgeously braided as it is with parched acoustic pickings and the hollowed sound of hazy vocals piercing through the ether.

As said three additional remixes of ‘face within’ bolster the set, the previously mentioned ‘her odd fist’ along with the ‘drev remix’ and the ‘Anthony Baldino remix – amid the haze of over loading communicative traffic the former applies a spot of groove space tweaking face lifting to his re-engineering imparting a sumptuously vibrant wall of crystalline celestially tipped effervescent turbulence to the proceedings while Mr Baldino for his part supplants a hitherto to more minimalist and monochrome viewpoint, much reminiscent of a crooked latter career dark hearted Orbital the intricately busy and haunting swathes are eked out to form a curious though attractive dislocated techno funk matrix. Recommended listening.
Key tracks – ‘Virus’, ’Coming up for air‘.

One Day International ‘Blackbird’ (Independent). There be few among you one would suspect who manage to navigate through this without the shedding of a tear or three, for the debut full length from Irish quintet One Day International is elegantly beset with the kind of forlorn hopelessness you’d expect to find in a group therapy counselling session for those suffering at the unkind hand of love, like some kind of idiots guide for the overcoming of life’s frailties, ’Blackbird’ is a quiet consoling corner where damaged souls thankful of the shade can silently lick their wounds undisturbed.

All at once haunting and healing, ’blackbird’ is an eloquently toned and quietly disturbed masterpiece, emotionally fatigued yet melodically measured, its intimacy draws you close into a world of tortured tenderness. Comprised of eleven cuts ’blackbird’ is tutored with a crystalline classicist mindset that finds itself woven in a frail and fragile magisterial beauty of the type rarely encountered here outside of a Shady Bard release, shy eyed passion welling anaemic anthems whose canvas freewheels amid bitter sweet pastel stains to full blown vividly teased lushly longing orchestrations that serve to anchor the lyrically dulled optimistic love notes tenderly taking flight above. Beautifully conceived though crushingly humbling and numbing.

Mind you that doesn’t tell the full story for tracks such as the trembling ’lead balloon’ – a delicately braided babe replete with hushed rushes of key canters and the onset of eloping string arrangements and the broken spirited spectral amour of ’sleeping on trains’ with its noir shanty like blossoming and carnival-esque swirling cascades – there’s a strangely out of step affinity drawn towards Radiohead’s quieter and more introspective moments from their back catalogue. it’s a connection that comes into full focus on the simply irresistible ’Aliens’ – let’s not pull punches here but if this was sneaked onto ’In Rainbows’ there’s a deep suspicion that even the band would give it a double take, perhaps the albums centrepiece (if you discount the parting ’darken your door’ – more about that in a second) its framed in sparsely orbiting pockets of hymnal euphoria and celestially tipped lilts that quite frankly appear happy to enchant and hurt with equal measure. Likewise can easily be said for ‘big surprise’ with its sepia trimmed glassy piano trailed minimalism (mind there is a slightly worrying wobble at the start when the intro comes in like a chilled variant of Leo Sayer’s ‘when I need you‘). Elsewhere the quietly epic ’shiver’ ebbs and flows in the kind of vapour trails and hushed majesty more commonly occupied by the Bunnymen’s ’Ocean Rain’ while ’not over you’ is grazed with a heart heaving dusty soul appraisal that recalls at times Springsteen’s stripped and bared ’tom joad’ sessions albeit finding themselves relocated to some deep south spiritual commune and desirably decorated in all manner of cosmic twinkles towards its close. All said and done and despite the obvious affection poured upon ’aliens’ – for us the albums best moment comes courtesy of the exiting ’darken your door’ – taking its cue loosely from the Aloof’s ’one night stand’ (sound wise) this parched honey is trip wired with cooled corteges of head bowed opines and a ghostily hollowed resonance that literally rips you to the core. Utterly heartbreaking.
Key tracks – ‘Darken your door’, ‘Aliens’ and ‘Sleeping on trains’

Obsessive’s and completists alike and for that matter for anyone else whose ever sneaked a taping device into a gig to record the ensuing events for – er – posterity then we recommend you get your arses along to the BBC site via for a chance to hear an Archive on 4 special about bootlegs presented by David Hepworth entitled ’for one night illegally – the history of the bootleg’. featuring contributions from the likes of Joe Boyd, Danny Kelly and historian Clinton Haylon, Hepworth traces and plots a digestible history of the bootleg and its relevance to music culture beginning with the research / boffin recordings made by Lionel Mapleson of classical performances from the Metropolitan to the much fabled (for forty plus years until they turned up on a 7 disc Mosaic set after his death) archive of Charlie Parker solos as recorded by Dean Benedetti in the ’40’s. Elsewhere the infamous Dylan ’Judas’ show and the Pistols ‘Bollocks’ out-takes as gathered on the semi legendary ’Spunk’ set are mentioned while for every artist whose nose is put out of joint – Led Zep in the main (check the tale of the seizure by the feds of 5,000 warped double disc Zep recordings) there’s always an ally to be found – note Ryan Adams’ approval by his allowing bootleggers to plug in an 8 channel device connected to the mixing desk. Show available to listen to until 25/04/2009.

Rough Trade C-09 ’various’ (Rough Trade). Don’t know how readily available this is outside of the Rough Trade records patch but it’s a neat and dandy 15 track sortie through the ear ware of the labels roster. Making its appearance in part celebrating the recent ‘record day’ soiree – an event celebrated (we hope) all across the globe and an attempt to promote nay encourage you record buying lads and lasses to frequent the mysterious wonders awaiting within your local independent record emporium wherein there were treats aplenty to mark the occasion what with one off limited edition 7 inches from the likes of New Order, the Stooges, Bad Religion, the Smiths, Tom Waits, Sonic Youth / Beck and Slayer (|the latter two of which I must admit we missed and are now as I write administering furious kicks upon our person). Then there was the Jesus Lizard 9 x 7 inch set ‘Inch’ housed in a wall mountable pvc sleeve – and thing so gorgeous that we’ve scarcely slept since acquiring it instead preferring to intermittently exchange fond admiring glances in its general direction. Of course all these little treasures are now the domain of internet auction sites – the prices hiked the demand out stripped. And so to ‘C09’ – a cassette no less – and a format threatened with extinction a little while back though strangely coming back into vogue (witness labels such as Scotch Tapes, Best Kept Secret and the recent James Rutledge release ‘the great ecstasy of….’
via LOAF which we can’t recommend enough here especially since it comes accompanied by a poster featuring artwork done by former Black Dice-r Hisham Bharoocha). Mind you we’ve always had a soft spot for cassettes, in pre CD walkman days they were the essential on the go medium – tape all your records onto a cassette or the night before’s Peel show and off you pop, still preferable to CD’s given they retained that depth and warmth (albeit reduced somewhat depending on what type of tape you were using ferric, metal – we always preferred chrome – if I recall rightly – though obviously some wit will write in and say I’m talking bollocks) of vinyl. Mind you its only been recently that we’ve started looking fondly upon CD’s (indeed – it has taken us nearly 25 years) and even then the reason for that is only because we generally detest downloads – agreed they’re handy for putting a months worth of albums primed for review on a portable player – but little else – I’m mean you can’t look at the time, hold them or make handy ashtrays out of them.

And so as usual we’ve waffled. Back to the point. ‘C-09’ – in some respects Rough Trade’s attempt to rekindle those glory days of cassette compilations from the dim and dark past – notably the NME’s ‘c-81’ and ‘c-86’ sets from er – 1981 and 1986 – obviously. As said 15 tracks prized from the mits of their stellar roster and including a super duper exclusive and special guest – kids don’t wet your pants – its only Jarvis – as in the Cocker who’ll no doubt be teasing the airwaves next month when his second solo full length ‘further complications’ touches down over record racks. In addition there are previously unreleased exclusives from Jeffrey Lewis and Micachu while the Mystery Jets offer up their cover of the Cure’s ‘inbetween days’ – a version originally – by all accounts given away on CD that included a copy of the NME (two mentions and counting are we on a retainer).

Anyhow it’s the Cocker oik who opens proceedings with ‘Angela’ – and well we’d love to tell you it stinks and it’s a waste your time, my time and everybody else who gives a fig’s time but the truth is it’s a bit of cutie – okay fair dues not as good as the Micachu cut (hold your horses – its in a second) but damn fine all the same – a bit like a fuzz shocked T-Rex and pretty cool in a Wolfmen grizzled glam garage kind of way. Miracle Fortress stump up ‘have you seen her in your dreams’ – previously unknown to us (take that surprised look off your faces) – is well dreamy – what did you expect me to say – sugar glazed whirly pop, quite bracing in a lovelorn shoe gaze type way – suppose that means we’ll have to check them out I guess.

Micachu’s ‘lips’ here in its Clark Kunt’s heavy mental mix guise – indeed I too do blame alcopops and the age of Cartoon Network, young people these days always seem to think they invented offensive. Hey we had David Cassidy, Brotherhood of Man and the Osmonds to contend with – so bollocks to you. Anyway ’lips’ I suppose is best described as a fist fight between DAF and Front 242 with Big Black in ’Kerosene’ mode putting in the odd savage kicks, a jarring bastard of atonal nag nag pickled pop and mighty fine with it. Been way too long since we had anything by Jeffrey Lewis with which to worry our hi-fi with – well not since his debut it should be said – ’whistle past the graveyard’ is a wickedly wonky slice of demented and kooky prairie pop to which admirers of the Violent Femmes may well find deeply attractive as will those of you with various Folk Devils vinyl outings about your personage. Arthur Russell – again previously unknown to us – damn we are slipping in our old age – the mellowing and tender ’love is overtaking me’ is a wonderfully brisk and lulling slice of porch drifting Americana that neatly tweaks between the cracks that exist between Dylan and Rodriguez, sadly this particular recording is culled from a posthumous set – largely unheard and unrecognised in his lifetime but now getting some long deserved critical acclaim Mr Russell died of AIDS aged 40 in 1992. Little Joy – indeed they are – well at least that’s the case on the cutely nuzzling ’brand new start’ a fizzily demurring sweetie of slow cooked honky tonk, countrified radiance and dimples of briskly served 70’s MOR that once mixed, stirred and served will drive you to distraction. As for God Help the Girl’s ’musician please take heed’ – irresistible in a word. Sweeping 60’s arrangements that sound like they were nicked from a related period kitchen sink drama, elements of Dusty, Julie London and Nancy flicker and furl amid the advancing effervescent cascades of lushly airy noir tweaked uber pop. Another ensemble much noted by their prolonged absence in these dispatches are the Decembrists – here found stumping up ‘the rake’s song’ – one of those excitably angular pop sorties which according to last fm is about ‘a tale of young marriage, a sudden discontent spurned on by the joint death of mother and newborn, leading to delightfully angry infanticide’ – now if that’s the case then ‘delightfully’ is we’d hazard to argue a curiously usage of a word in terms of description, that said there’s a grim off set humour attaching here, morbidly dysfunctional and set to a persistent thud of a persistent strum that had us here briefly calling to mind the Triffids.

Flip the cassette over for side 2 – none of your continuous play without breaks here malarkey like your crap CD, culled from their current opus Super Furry Animals open matters with the hyper driven Kraftwerk meets New Musik – esque orbital whirly pop dream weaving of ‘inaugural trams’ which it must be said blends superbly into the Veils mildly excitable and frantically fraught ‘three sisters’. discounting Robert Wyatt – the saddest voice in pop – Antony and the Johnsons cooks up the frail and fragile ‘shake that devil’ – initially sounding like some rare and recently unearthed head bowed and hymnal soul / spiritual / blues styled shellac this beauty then appears to go on something of an evolutionary journey that sees it go via a dronal Low like moment before emerging as a saucy slab of smoking tail feather singeing militaristically delivered skat jazz – damn fine by our reckoning. As previously noted Mystery Jets re-wire the Cure’s ‘in between days’ and give it a delightfully light headed and dare we say skedaddled and dislocated after hours club floor throbbing dynamic which we must admit gives the original more than a run for its money. Incidentally those of you much loving of Cure covers ought to seek out a quite sumptuous double disc set put out by Manimal entitled ‘perfect as cats’ which features a plethora of stars and starlets from the underground doing tasty things to Smith and Co’s back catalogue including contributions from Bat for Lashes, the Dandy Warhols, Gangi, Ex-Reverie and more.

Back with ‘C-09’ – next up 1990’s – again another ensemble much missed in these pages – time to don the platform boots and the sequins because ‘the box’ is a deliriously sleazy and seductive slab of decadent glam boogie, all hand claps, massive riffage, Glitter-esque motifs and ooh oohs a plenty – blimey thought in was ‘72 for a second – did we mention it was insidiously infectious – no – well it is. Didn’t we used to get the Hold Steady records around here at one time – oh damn I can’t recall rightly – sure we did and I’m sure they were much loved – at some point anyway, anyhow ‘sequestered in Memphis’ is another corker of a cut, kinda like a mellowed Modern Lovers duelling with a considerably more mellowed Long Ryders – which I’m sure you’ll agree there’s no need to elaborate further on. Last up and rounding off the set in a dreamlike and demurring way British Sea Power’s bitter sweet ‘no man is an archipelago’ – these young folk – where do they get these titles from whatever happened to simple ones like ‘shout’, ‘fire’ and ‘the sad but true story of Ray Mingus, the lumberjack of bulk rock city, and his never slacking stribe in exploiting the so far undiscovered areas of the intention to bodily intercourse from the opposite species of his kind, during intake of all the mental condition that could be derived from fermentation’ – the latter young folk is we believe the longest record title ever and by a band called Rednex who hail from Sweden – love to see the sleeve that housed that title on it. Anyway British Sea Power – instrumental, introspective, intimate and will make you cry – gem like.

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