Tales from the Attic
Revolutions of a 33 and 45 kind…..
Blimey been loads going on since we last posted a missive, the World Cup almost over, another embarrassing England exit an ever more embarrassing – nay humiliating outcome to the Brazilian dream – lets be honest they were lucky to get as far as the Semi’s on what was by and large the worst squad I’d ever witnessed – a mix of inept refereeing and sheer luck brought them so far. Then there was gnasher Suarez now happily ensconced to Barcelona who no doubt Liverpool will be paired with and go out to goals scored by biter Suarez, still 75 million should be enough for us to buy the rest of the Southampton squad. Wimbledon – ah the tennis – best men’s final in an age, though I have to admit to giggling aloud when the News Quiz upon commenting on the new flexible hours regime pointed out that Murray had made full use of the opportunity going out early before he’d had the chance to play the big boys. And the scandals – allegations of cover ups in Westminster with the very likeable Mr Tebbit pretty much dropping the government in the crapper during his interview on the Marr show following Brittan’s bout of scurrilous amnesia as he played simpleton for a round of hear no evil, speak no evil see no evil. Still back at Labour HQ leader Mr Bean – sorry Milliband – always get the two confused – sat on his hands like a child waiting to be given permission to speak – surely its not too late to instate Yvette Cooper as leader is it. And there were strikes – yes people actually having the nerve to lose a days pay to air to ire at Government cuts – how ghastly – and this coming from so called members of parliament who are not only planning to vote themselves a whopping inflation busting pay rise but who have better holidays than the beleaguered teachers they happily put down and to add insult to injury are currently looking at retuning Union legislation so that the minority can’t dictate the majority – sorry Cameron but recheck the 2010 election votes and tell me what is wrong with this picture. And so to music – wasn’t Glastonbury the most depressing thing you’ve ever witnessed – I mean when – and no disrespect here – Mr Ferry and Ms Parton are the main attractions then something is amiss. Oh and Morrissey has a new album – deep joy…..
This particular missive features top tunes from…….
Koukouvaya, john mouse, revolutionary spirit, jon allen, palace of swords, ojn, midwich youth club, spewing cum, young philadelphia, snide rhythms, white fence, ose leone, dream lake, pye corner audio, candy darling, little tornados, wet, flyying colours, art trip and the static sound, wax witches, thom bowden, theatre royal, howe gelb, roshi nasehi, Samuel frank, sea kings, Plantagenet 3, a little orchestra, boris blank, gary numan, tir na nog, sendelica, our mutual friend, miniatures, earthling society, mark and the clouds, mountainear, mat motte, goatwhore, Broderick and barner, aborist, futeisha, the bordellos
We’ve been given the heads up that this little baby is heading our way at double quick speed and certain for turntable adoration. Out on Audio Candle it’s the debut album from Surrey based Thom Bowden. Entitled ’searching the brittle light’, Bowden’s rough and raw lo-fi garage growl is sure to catch the lobes of the more attuned record buying cognoscenti having already caught the attention of both (Kim) Deal and (Steve) Albini, the former applying sage advice on production values (or should we say the lack of them) with the latter actually on hand at the recording desk. For now ’control’ comes tearing out of the traps, a purists garage grinding riff grating slab of spiked boog-a-loo that scowls n’ rages with the kind of wayward ramshackle rapture that has you recalling a studio gathering of Modern Lovers, Television and Mudhoney types impishly colluding to butcher and blister the power pop purism of the Knack in angular angst. Yes…… http://www.punktastic.com/radar/first-play-of-the-new-thom-bowden-track/
Oh yes, this ‘un is sure to set the daytime transistor valves into swooning states of adoring frenzy. New turntable thing from Theatre Royal ‘French Riviera 1988’ is one of those fleeting moments of gusting effervescence that sounds for all the world like a charging cavalry of pops first battalion heading fast over the hills. This nugget arrives as an early download for all those pre-ordering the bands imminent third full length ‘we don’t know where we are’ which in case you didn’t know is set for heavy duty wax pressing via Vacilando ‘68. Already receiving acute attention from those radio types Robinson and Kennedy, ’French Riviera 1988’ comes primed in the kind of pristine pop grooving and sun showered strut cool that swerves and shimmies to a myriad of country opines, honeyed harmonies and a familiar west coast seasoning the likes of which have been rarely heard around these parts since the early days of the World Party. http://www.soundcloud.com/wearethetheatreroya//theatre-royal-french-riviera
Featuring the amassed talents of Howe Gelb, Neko Case , Jason Lytle, Kirstin Hersh, Victoria Williams, John Convertino and more, this dandy little seven inch was by all accounts sneaked out on RSD14 and now makes its official airing in the UK via MVD audio. Entitled ’Mars’ – this soundtrack backdrops an animated / comic book story boards styled sci fi space rom com tracing the intrepid adventures of a three man mars mission plotting along the way a series of mishaps and cosmic skulduggery as they pit their wits against their erstwhile AI crew companion. Featuring three gems, there’s much to love here for all those fondly reared in space’s silver age, from the dreamy re-interpretation of Lou Reed’s ’satellite of love’ here re-visualised as an as were postcard from the stars all cutely coded in bliss kissed cuddly toned yearning whispers and yawning steel guitar opines to the spectral sepia gauzed ‘lucky star love’ with its trippy zero gravity flotillas, starry eyed love note exchanges, golden age pop moulding (that’ll be the 50’s space kids) and lolloping steel pedal croons. All said our favourite moment is the parting ‘untethered love’ – a momentary burst of twang turned solar activity that imagines that rumble riff dude Link hooked up to Meek doing lost soundtracks for abandoned Gerry Anderson space age TV projects.
Now this folks – is quite something else. A twelve inch coming out via golden pleasure music featuring six tracks cutely crafted by the shared mindset of Pamela Golden, Roshi Nasehi and Samuel Frank. Be warned this is totally off the radar. ‘good morning! Mr Williams’ is inspired and serves to soundtrack an exhibition curated by artist Pamela Golden wherein by way of a found photo dating back to 1912 of a group of choirboys on a trip to Abergale she weaved a pictorial historical adventure recounting tales of sightings of Prince Madoc’s ghostly ship of its coast. enter Nasehi and Frank intrigued at the unfolding myth and mystery. Across 32 minutes and six tracks, ’good morning! Mr Williams’ arrives spirited away in lost Asiatic shanties, demurring nursery rhymes and reclaimed hymnals, they weave a delightfully rarefied tapestry schooled in archaic tongues and tenderly trimmed in a succulently multi coloured mosaic that teasingly ghosts between psych, folk and spirituals. these delicate apparitions cleverly storyboard the tales and legends within, upon this strange ethereal voyage you’ll be greeted to the dreamy trance toned lilt of ’Rooz haaye hafteh / days of the week’ as it seductively shadow steps into environs once upon a time the domain of Grimes. Somewhere else ’Ay hyd y nos / all through the night’ pays a tender game of wyrd folk peek-a-boo enchantment while after some momentary incursion of frisky funk ’when the wise man was young’ soon unfurls to allure amid a roving slice of flute floret mayday merriment. ‘the battle of evermore’ arrives desirably dinked in middle eastern mysticism replete with snake charming flurries before dissipating and re-emerging into something as beautiful and bewitching as we’ve scarcely heard around here since the visitation of those Laura J Martin gems. Elsewhere the prairie perched ’old texas / cowboys lament’ is a beautifully idling slice of pedal steel purring lazily wooing beneath the lengthening shadow of a hillside tree whilst watching the sun turn down to rest. Which leaves the love noted sophiticat that is ‘smoke signals’ wraps up matters bedded upon tripping beats and dub motifs all the time sweetly weaving to a subtle Oriental accents whilst cradled in lunar lilts and a lights lowered schmooze. Blissful and beautiful in short.
Have to confess to being mildly smitten by the debut platter from the Sea Kings. Out via iffy records ’bible John’ is describe loosely by its attaching press release as something of a nod to postcard records of yesteryear which per the flip electrified club floor cooled flip remix we’d be inclined to whole heartedly agree. That said as to the actual lead out cut with it roving and throbbing bass underpins we’d have a tendency to point you in the general direction of the much missed angular art poppers Playwrights at their most playfully radio astute tuning themselves into the outer spheres of the Smiths sonic cosmos applying a decidedly ear candy slice of uber cool white funk shimmying. In truth though and for us it’s the revamped subtronic casing applied to the souped up ‘I’m only dancing’ remix found lurking over on the flip that had us chomping at the bit, a killer slab of smoked post everything cool that flirts with the kind of dark club grinding groove that once upon a time was the remit of Radio 4 though here reframed into something you’d have expected to emerge from the melodic empire some five or six years back courtesy of working for a nuclear free city or the department of eagles, just to let you know their debuting full length platter ’woke in the devil’s arm’s’ is getting a turntable hammering at the moment.
And many thanks to the Plantagenet 3 and a Little Orchestra’ who sent along a finished 7 inch copy of their much admired set ‘the dark ages’ which we mentioned to much adoration way back when we were a whole lot younger and more playful via Tales from the Attic # 30 which just to recap per lead out cut ’Canute (the irresistible surf)’ had us very much imagining desert scarred revenge standards, deathly duels and midnight tango twangs partaken by a classic era Shadows on an arid dry Sergio Leone film set while the preferred flip ‘Godiva and Tom’ is very much adorned in the exquisite 60’s styled spy noir shimmering found gracing the envied back catalogues of Barry and Mancini. Available via the jitter imprint.
And so to Boris Blank who you may well recall we mentioned in brief passing last missive out when news of an extensive box set entitled ‘electrified’ was mooted to be in the offing via a kickstarter campaign. Seems he’s achieved his funding goal which means this mammoth 3 hour anthology of unreleased material spanning a time line 1977 to 2014 should shortly see the light of day, to celebrate the news he’s decided to reveal the video for ‘time tunnel’ – a sumptuous psychotropic p-trance celestial chassis calibrated upon a myriad of motorik dream weaves fluent in Aphex-ian tongues all kissed and trip wired in a Zombi like futuro cinematic casing. Damn fine if you ask me….
And from Blank to Numan also mentioned in passing last missive out, this is the far superior demo version of ’I am dust’ that you’ll find tucked on his current / forthcoming dark pop platter which includes that rather nifty remould by thenewno2. This skeletal work in progress comes stripped to the bone in a shadow playing velour all tensely gouged in a grainy monochrome hollowed casing that firmly casts a darkening edgy glow to the proceedings whilst simultaneously subtly revisiting his past dark glamour courtesy of ’I, Assassin’. http://www.soundcloud.com/garynumanofficial/I-am-dust-demo
Taken from their current and dare we say acclaimed 7 inch platter from Tir na nOg for the esteemed Fruits de Mer entitled ‘I have known love’ (a Silver Apples cover no less), here’s the video for ‘you in yellow’ – a gorgeously embracing and intimate love noted pastoral posy, utterly entrancing……
Staying with Fruits de Mer related news, Sendelica are releasing ‘live at Crabstock’ which captures and gathers together the ensembles recent appearance at the FdM shindig in Wales – this is being made available on the friends of the fish imprint – a kind of sub label to FdM – financed, sold and distributed by the bands themselves though promoted and given a blessing by the FdM crew. This particular release comes pressed up on various variants – transparent purple vinyl, black wax, CD and a collectors box set which includes t-shirts, gig tickets and chocolate fish and chips – don’t ask – anyhow its well sold out. Enough of that 7 tracks feature within and being the awkward blighters we are we’ve opted for the parting 12 minute head warping ’spaceman bubblegum’ – a frankly out there krautropic lunar odyssey, typically fried, all over the shop and very much tuning its big beardy radar into the wiring jazzadelic realms of Embryo and your Amon Duul II, some listeners may never return……
Strictly limited to just 150 orange vinyl copies – one of which we want – is the (I assume to be) the debut single from our mutual friend. ’truly gone’ is I’ll admit a bit of a curio, not your straight in your face immediate slab of tuneage but rather more something that quietly lays deceptive seeds which hatch in your headspace forming hooks causing you to whistle its coda just when you least expect it thereupon urging you to revisit it for a repeat play. In terms of reference markers it posits itself somewhere between Ben Folds 5 and Hefner, indeed I’ll agree a strange union but it does take that subtle swing vibe from the former and that crushed and poignant warts n’ all what you see is what you get realism from the latter and wires the resulting brew with something that should find swooning appeal from admirers of the monks kitchen. ’spare me’ over on the flip has a gorgeous way of unravelling from its off centred soul funk tethering, its punctuated and angular motifs having us recalling a youthful Joe Jackson. All said its on their version of (I could be wrong here) Robert Johnson’s ‘sweet home Chicago’ that they really pick up the baton and blossom, seductively smoked, ragged and laid back these dudes kiss this delta blues cornerstone in a superbly cruise controlled prairie prowling purr. http://www.ourmutualfriend1.bandcamp.com
Recommended if you like Cocteau Twins nudges the press release attaching to the latest virtual 7 inch release from the everything is chemical imprint. They weren’t kidding. New two track from Miniatures is a dreamily demurred slice of silky shoe gaze which indeed does instantly recall those strangely ethereal and unworldly lullabies that from the workbench of Liz and Co once upon a time found occasion to ghost like aural apparitions across subdued and swooned out turntables, alas no information on miniatures but safe to say these timid treasures come bearing the same kind of ice frosted crystalline raptures ‘form into soft and wild’ is particularly smitten with a lilting aftertaste honey glowed in the tender yearn of sleepy headed celestial arcs. For us though personally we are quiet fond of ‘once live wants’ over on the flip, haloed in lunar flotillas and delicate caress of dissipating murmurs there’s something touchingly euphoric about this star glazed love noted that nods to Heather Duby. http://www.eicvirtual7inch.bandcamp.com/album/eicv7-no-73
Staying with everything is chemical, release numero 72 from the label comes courtesy of Koukouvaya. Again no information on this lot (him / her) though happy to report that lead out track ’anacoana no 7’ sounds somewhat like a lovelorn distress call being emitted across the heavenly voids from a long since lost lunar platform situated on the outer posts of the celestial realm in its wake bringing with it a luxuriant floorshow of hypnotic tides of demurred dream drifting milky white orbs. As ever with these things our favoured cut is to be found on the flip wherein the minimalist murmurs of the alluring night light show ‘prismatic sun no.2’ comes beautifully teased in the soft euphoric rush of celestial fanfares. http://www.eicvirtual7inch.bandcamp.com/album/eicv7-no-72
Can we dispense with the usual introductions and press release gubbins (I’m sure some crafty and creative googling will get you all the info should you need it and need it you will). Truth is we are rush reviewing this because its an album that a) we fear we’ll forget to come back to it (and not because it lacks affection or adoration – because it does) but because b) its so scuffed and skewed it lends itself to being written about off the cuff. Fourth full length from John Mouse – or the Welsh Beck as some prefer to herald him – goes by the cheery title ‘the death of john mouse’ – eleven tracks – 33 minutes, never tires, never dulls, always keeps you intrigued – was haplessly described by one as ’esoteric’ – though I’m hard pushed to hear anything remotely esoteric, we’ve even played it twice on the trot because we love it so much – alas any hints of the esoteric are if anything well hidden. Safe to say you can get the measure of an albums worth when something emerges through the fog and just knocks you squarely into next week, and so it was to the parting ’once upon a time in ynysmaerdy (will I ever queue again)’ that such revelations came to pass, a quietly grand and euphoric ending that nods and pays it dues to the Super Furry Animals and Gorki’s Zygotic Mynci whilst armed and steeled in a timeless velour of tear stained aural postcards that hint of faded letters dispatched from memories coloured in black and white. Dare I say admirers of the Earlies and Shady Bard will adore. Admittedly it’s a wow moment – not merely due to its demurred musicality but quite frankly because it’s a welcoming and surprising sore thumb appearing on a set whose impish charm ricochets between moments of barbed Half Man Half Biscuit / ’the End’ witticisms to Robert Lloyd-esque pop panache and dumbed down Arab Strap ordinariness. The woes of being dragged out of your comfort zone and growing apart are finitely studied on ’I was a goalkeeper’ as it pitches one of the finest lines in recent memory in ‘I was a goalkeeper and then everybody grew tall’ before tearing through the defences in full 3 forward attack formation rippling hooks you can hang entire careers upon, riffs so sharp you can cut teeth with and a chorus line ripe for crowd waving. Scarcely pausing for breath the schizoid ’those two blokes from Abba’ comes shambling out into the daylight tearing it up like some bastard offspring of a youthful Pixies and Stump bunk up before driving headlong into the acutely cute power popping kick ass strut kissed ’your funny little ways’ taking along the way several nibbles of Mr Lloyd’s ’something nice’. sparring for affection with once upon a time in ynsmaerdy’ arrives ’robbie savage’ – an amazing and dare we say consuming slice of spoken word bleakness which resonates like nothing heard here since the Tindersticks’ ’my sister’ and then its time to nail down all moveable objects and don tin hats for the frenzied sonic light bolt that is ’ilka moor’ – a Zorn like slab of angular no wave jazz ju-ju. Elsewhere ’I’m waiting for you girl’ just nails that gumball / teenage fan club late 80’s / early 90’s sound firmly to the floor albeit as though rephrased through the viewfinder of the Loft while all said I must admit to being somewhat under the spell of ’the bell it tolls’ with its wintry fanfares and that sense of a charging cavalry heading fast over the hill. An unassuming gem and a classic in waiting.
And more words of gratitude this time for the revolutionary spirit who hotfooted over a finished copy of their delectable debut 7 inch platter ’sunshine’ which is available right now via the sound of salvation imprint. Mentioned to absolute adoration last missive out (Tales from the Attic # 40) we must admit that as far as singles go this this year this un will take some beating being so far the best thing we’ve heard all year. Channelling ‘albatross’ albeit rephrased through the viewfinder of crest’s immaculate ‘68 comeback’ and indelibly dipped with the mercurial aftertaste of the butterflies of love’s ‘rob a bank’ to be arrested in the quiet soft psych purr of Cheval Sombre and Galaxie 500 – this will blow you away. Over on the flip sits the loose and smoked ‘leave it all behind’ – a psych purist dream weaving dandy blissing out on vintage fringe parting primitive blues codas that sound as though they’ve been hoodwinked from a Hendrix notebook to form part of a jam session summoned upon by a seriously bonged out Crazy Horse. Absolutely essential.
Referencing Jackson C Frank and Nick Drake is how the press release greets to describe the latest track to be showcased from Jon Allen’s forthcoming third set ‘deep river’ due for release on monologue early July. A tall order and a lot to live up to but ‘lady of the water’ acquits itself admirably. In short the most elegantly beautiful thing we’ve heard in such an age, really is a class apart, indeed possessed of the bittersweet yearn and faraway forlorn introspection of Drake at his most tender and inquisitive, ‘lady of the water’ is a spectral magicalia softly turned in pastoral posies and brimming in bewitchment, all at once haunting and hollowed its honeyed genteelness is draped in tumbling finger picked chords whose ghostly aftertaste ought to appeal to those admiring of a shy eyed and reclining Rodriguez. The video incidentally was crafted by Akira the Don, Allen will take the album ona nationwide tour this coming fall.
Pulled from their second EP via reverb worship, this is by missive old friends the palace of swords with ‘the castle spectre’ – a softly alluring orbital love note cradled upon a hypnotic dream machine pulsar radiating subliminal images of sea faring adventures on un-chartered alien oceans, a kind of extra terrestrial ’sailing by’ in short and something that ought to register a somewhat adoring interest from long time admirers of John Brenton – he of landshipping, OJN and metrotone fame.
Those of you wondering – well what do OJN sound like – well here’s a blast from the past via awkward silence who it seems have started posting up band camp links featuring those earlier hard to find 7’s that used to frequent out of the label to much adoration here – this one featuring an OJN split with Cathode from way back in 2002.…
And back with the palace of swords for they appear on an ultra limited 10 track compilation entitled ‘in the container tonight – volume 2’ put out by the container drivers imprint – a gathering – no less – of psychedelic post punk synth pop types currently bubbling beneath the critical ear with the Swords dudes swooning the grooves with the quite impeccable ‘(we are) the new hypervboreans’. this honey originally appeared on a ridiculously limited lathe cut split with Starry Seas taking up residence on the flip side, a lilting psychotropic carousel kind of Meek meets a chilled out Space if your desperate for reference markers which veers upon the outer spheres of the Warm Digits cosmos. Elsewhere on the set you’ll find midwich youth club who’ve been on our must write about radar for as long as we care to remember, ’if you don’t like guitars (then this song is for)’ is a kooky kaleidoscopic sort – initially sounding like something ripe for ghost box interest before skipping stage left and going all fuzzy buzzy glammy 70’s wonky to sound like something the BBC yoof work experience would have no doubt cooked up had they the keys to the Radiophonic workshop room after getting high from a morning sniffing pritt sticks and watching studio rushes of Magpie, How and Vision On and putting send concoction through the weird wobbulator of the tomorrow people. Now with a title like ‘dear fuzz’ you’d rightly expect flying saucer attack flashbacks would you not, think again for moth effect enact a gloriously demurring slice of trippy krautian kool that much recalls the early outings of Echoboy. Somewhere else the charmingly named Spewing Cum slavishly frazzle your turntable with some noise niking frenzy courtesy of the scalding ‘frustrated / I wanna fuck you up’ whose seriously pissed off angst gouged groove sounds like the kind of feral aural abortion you once in a while find kicking the crap out of the competition via the adored gringo and brew imprints. Young Philadelphia mellow things somewhat with ‘non-Euclidean nightmare’ which for the best part sounds not unlike some lost Roy Montgomery reprise before blossoming into an acutely attractive calypsian math rocking sweetheart before going off radar in a kind of frazzled Hey Colossus meets Billy Mahonie road trip. Must admit to being a tad smitten by sun shines cold’s ‘a distance between’ upon whose statuesque and panoramic majesty we do hear the sweeping forlorn grandeur of the Workhouse re-tweaked by Zerra 1. Those more loving of their sounds soured in shambling post rock paranoia reminiscent of Left Hand might do well to check into ‘minority off the opulent’ by Rollor which aside being possessed of some nifty John McKay styled wiring riffage kind of lurks and stares you out like a prime time offering from pure morning. Equally loved with much affection around these here parts is snide rhythms ‘greyed out and muted’ which is blessed with a sparsely spiked nag nag nag effect corralled in by a minimalist Dadaist post punk bite much reminiscent of a clock dva / this heat face off. Invading throwing muses / Belly-esque territories are mistake pageant whose ‘too far’ proves itself a nifty slice of strut gouged cool while power switchblade gatecrash the party mix with some fuzzed up lo-fi skewed and schizoid grind via the gnarled blues crookedness of ‘torn apart by wit wolves’. recommended all said. http://www.containerdriversradio.bandcamp.com/album/in-the-container-tonight-vol-2
This particular missives the dogs danders award goes to white fence’s ‘like that’. this retro nugget comes ripped from a forthcoming drag city platter entitled ‘to the recently found innocent’ and finds Tim Presley paired up with Ty Segall time tripping to the mod-tastic golden age of 60’s beat pop for a classically cool strut thrilled sub three minute fringe flopping freak out that manages to chemically fuse the best elements of the Who, Traffic, Simon Dupree and the Creation into a wig flipped sun kissed radiating kaleidoscopic rapture. Nuff said. http://www.soundcloud.com/drag-city/white-fence-like-that-/s-ZNBPQ
We’ve only had a chance to cherry pick a handful of tracks featured on an advance sound cloud promo of the new album from Spanish collective Oso Leone entitled ‘mokragora’ and on scant first listens have been most taken with the track ‘Clivia’. intricate, busied in detail and revealing of a subtle classicist of its authors, this cut lends itself perfectly to being best enjoyed late at night lazing away the twilight hours basking in sultry hot sunsets while this plays out its mercurial craft, reminiscent at times of the vibe oozing from Barry Adamson’s ’soul murder’ albeit as though threaded through the finite eye of Edward Ka-Spell and Bill Laswell, its sparsely atmospheric noir touches give it a rain drizzled monochrome tasting etched in subtle dub shadow plays and a jazz drilled discipline. Available via foehn.
Literally just hit our inbox and immediately shimmied its way past our usually well guarded defences. This demurring creature comes from Swedish duo Isabella and Niklas who together comprise Dream Lake. Imminent on the 100 songs imprint ‘let us stay in the light’ is in short an exquisitely turned frail and fragile four minute love note arrested in vapour trailing crushes all caressed in lulling 80’s dimpled nocturnal motifs lassoed upon a orbital dream weaving trajectory and possessed of a remit to seduce, serenade and cause you to surrender to its bitter sweet starry eyed bouquet – perfect for those who fondly remember Sophie and Peter Johnston from all those years back via the John Peel nightly broadcasts. http://www.soundcloud.com/100songs/01-dream-lake-let-us-stay-in-the-light
First of three albums featured in this missive which in terms of mid season polling are all proving strong contenders for the top spot in our end of year voting. Surely in need of no introductions in these pages Earthling Society have in recent years acquitted themselves as one of the nations finest purveyors of progressive psych whose musicality, vision and originality is perhaps only matched by those other bonged out beatniks Cranium Pie. Via the adored and highly thought of Riot Season imprint comes ‘England have my bones’ – an opus so out there and lost in its own moment that it should by rights elevate Earthling Society to psych’s topper-most table and with it set the bar level to which all progressive psyche releases coming in its wake should be measured several notches upwards. An absolute freak storm, if these dudes where Japanese then religious cults would be sprouting the record buying globe over. In short ’England have my bones’ is the most out there off your face experience you can have without resorting to chemical stimulants, a freakishly terra-forming and mind warping odyssey that trips out voyaging far beyond the audiac astral plateaus ventured by heavyweights the likes of Gnod, Floorian and primordial undermind. Its where vision, creativity and craft converge sublimely into a seamlessly fluid forked tongue pressed upon a palette vibrant in colour that sumptuously airbrushes the lines between psych, prog, wyrd folk and pop. The eleven minute colossus ‘Aiwass’ opens the set, a shape shifting snake dancing mirage of drone mysticism that literally morphs amid the deeply hypnotic trim of eastern accents and fuzzed our vapour trails to mushrooms and assume mass, definition and depth which for all its woozy and fried felicitations might well in the final analysis prove to be the Earthling ones most pop moment given that by scratching away at its pyrotechnical riffola and its shroom enhanced kookiness the blighter might be favourably seen in some quarters as a psychedelic head trip between the Paris Angels, Wonky Alice and World of Twist. Somewhere else lurks the seductive baroque dream weave that is ’Tortuga’ spiriting its way through your defences like some heaven sent sonic herald crafted from the parts of the chocolate watch band and ghost. ’England has my bones’ – the shortest thing here – is a head scrambling exercise in slowly returning back to normality following some mystical visit to magic mushroom land, after a frenzied freeform bout of Henry Cow-esque art jazz noodling much like the type of stuff bent out of shape by that frazzled dude Andy Pyne and kicked out with much welcome regularity on his foolproof project imprint, it then stops, goes silent and picks up the baton in the kind of hazy and ghost like woozy dreamland that admirers of the mighty Grails may well warm to. All said nothing quite prepares for their mind fracturing cover of Alice Coltrane’s ’journey into Satchidananda’ – a 15 minute trip to bonged out land – this is the place where your mind just disconnects from any notion of reality, absolutely gone, totally off radar and a truly zonked out and stoned beauty which aside touching base with blue cheer, acid mothers, the much missed green milk from the planet orange and more importantly the criminally underappreciated Walking Seeds is liable to melt turntables as well as minds, be warned some listening disciples might not make it back to base in one piece. Out via the ever adored riot season imprint. http://www.riotseason.com
I can foresee this honey doing some serious damage once its let loose on the coolest in tuned club floors peppered about these isles. Imminent from the ’I thought they’d packed up their saddle bags and rode off into the sunset’ front and follow imprint whose last appearance in these pages was of a time when we could fix a handsomely roguish steely boyish smile in the general direction of fair maidens and receive same back minus the rogue boy bit or something like that – why oh why we get digging ourselves into these vocabulary holes is beyond me. Anyhow hopefully you get the gist – its been a fair old while and if rumours are to be believed then we can expect releases aplenty from this most eclectic of outlets by the likes of lutine, kemper Norton, psychological strategy board (who lets be honest name alone ensures appetites suitably a-whetted) and the much adored Sone Institute. For now though available shortly on both download and heavy duty 12 inch wax slabs ‘the black mist’ EP by the mysterious head technician here operating under his Pye Corner Audio guise. Not the first time PCA has appeared in these pages given we’ve had occasion to mention him when its been our want to variously dissect those occasional mix cloud treats emanating from out of the Belbury Parish (see Jim Jupp / Ghost Box). Three tracks sit within, a kind of master class in retro motorik mood musique in short, ’black mist’ is essentially a time tripping experience back to kraut rocks silver space age, a kraftwerkian star cruiser with ’movement’ era New Order remoulds motored by eat lights become lights pulsars and fed through the futuro cosmic eye of echoboy’s ’scene 30’ with enhanced Moroder effects – beyond that there’s nothing more to say than to add except to say its frankly the dogs danders and the best thing never recorded by Battles. Set to tug, one suspects, on your heartstrings is the mournfully tearstained and lonesome cosmic carousel that is the broodingly beautiful ’bulk erase’ – a kind of haunting goodbye note posted upon some lost moment / or civilisation on the furthest outer posts of the lunar divides and primed as a captivating choreography versed in the classicist tongue of fortdax albeit as though being rescored by Zombi. Last up Old Apparatus rewire title track ’black mist’ into a deeply mesmeric and subterranic head trip coiled in leviathan like swathes and a cavernous majesty whose spellbinding aura seduces like some ceremonial mass headed up by Goblin.
Second top-tastic psych pop opus this missive comes courtesy of the rather wonderful Mega Dodo imprint. Debut full length platter ‘blue skies opening’ from Mark and the Clouds arrives in two strictly limited formats – there’s your bog standard 13 track CD set to hit the decks 14/7 followed 2 weeks later by an ultra limited 250 only blue wax edition with the first 100 off the racks coming packed with an additional 4 track EP featuring unreleased cuts culled from the recording sessions. ‘blue skies opening’ is a lysergic dream coat marrying power pop swoons (‘for all diamonds to shine’) and 60’s beat-a-rama with paisley pop bliss and laid back country psych cool with the latter being succinctly evidenced on the slinky dream drift exotica escaping the grooves of the title track which for all the world sounds not unlike a secret session gathering together Gram Parsons and Gene Clark types. Radiating swoons aplenty the smoking ’the grudge’ is classic mid career Charlatans in full on smouldering the Band meets Dylan country soul soaked classicism while ‘music disease’ has the kind of sassy beat swagger about its wares rarely heard done better outside of a Rob Clarke and the Wooltones pop platter and comes replete in snazzy Seeds styled fuzzy kickbacks. For the Beatles-philes among you we suggest to fast forward to ‘faraway laughter’ without further delay given its subtle and sumptuous winter toned baroque pop reveals trace elements of the Fab 4’s ‘revolver’ being secretly dissected and puzzled upon by those Davies dudes while staying with the mop top theme the best moment of the set comes in the guise of the parting ’are you taking time’ which unless ears do deceive has something of the hazily glazed woozy underpins more commonly associated with Harrison’s rarely heard handicraft amid the Beatles canon all dutifully couched in dream weaving crystalline riffs and succulently teased in all manner of reverse loops and surrendering sun setting west coast serenades. Giving it a good run for its money in the favourite track stakes is the mod-tastic Hammond laced biff bang pow of ‘goddess of desire’ which to these well tuned ears sounds not unlike some thought lost recently unearthed sassy shakedown penned to adorn some 60’s hipster teen beat flick while the equally haunting desert campfire spiritual ’darkened river’ shimmers, creaks and coos adorned in death rattled twangs and whistling like some Meek overseen murder ballad. And before we forget to mention it ’I run like crazy’ is just like wow and should by rights satiate the stereophonic listening experiences of purists digging the sounds of wimple winch. Think that’s enough worthy excuses to persuade you to invest heavily in don‘t you think?
damn – we are a tad fond of this, debuting platter from Bristol based combo Candy Darling whose press release rejoices in the revelation that these dudes forged alliances by way of a love for proto punk trash, rock n’ roll and noir romanticism which any regular visitor to these pages will know is worthy reason enough to guarantee adoration in the bijou confines afforded by the Sunday Experiences’ listening space beneath the stairs. Due for record counter damage in September wherein it’ll come pressed up on 7 inch slabs of pink wax ’money’ leads the charge on this twin pronged salvo, clearly the work of Suicide disciples, this minimalist slab of death discofied Dadaism scowls, agitates and broods like a stripped bare to the bone Xmal Deutschland icily crafting chilling mind warping subliminal sonar waves. ’temples’ over on the flip (well we assume and hope its on the flip) is equipped with the kind of ghostly aural apertures more commonly associated by tracks sound boarding David Lynch flicks, a shade adorned twang tinged dark beauty that purrs sorrowfully possessed of an opining classicism rarely heard since the days of the Devastations magnificent ‘Leone’ albeit here cut through by the soft seduction of the Delgados, frankly folks scarcely a dry eye in the house.
I’ll be honest with you, for the last 5 minutes we’ve been checking for signs of made in Sweden with this ‘un given its kissed with the kind of hushed mellowing mercurial majesty that seems to attach to most platters leaving Scandinavian shore lines these days. Seems not however for mountainear are a trio hailing from London (I’m still suspecting there’s a Scandinavian link here somewhere) who arrive here with a debuting single ‘distant camps’ tucked firmly under their collective arm. Admittedly not the kind of thing that’s going to have you dancing erratically in the aisles and even less so immediate on impact, instead rather more a slow burner that’s likely to have you drawing close to your sound player as its twinkle set shy eyed ice crystals delicately thaw and arrestingly tease to blossom into a most captivating clock working celestial carnival haloed in heavenly choruses and speckled in the kind of fuzzy inner warmth that usually besets a snow showered winter scene. Demurring stuff.
Video goes like this…..
Think I’m right in saying that this comes culled from a forthcoming full length entitled ‘we are divine’ via rio bogota records which as yet we haven’t had a chance to check the private preview soundcloud links for (though on the evidence of this will be high on the to do list). By little tornadoes, ’have a balloon’ is getting an airing as a limited download only single in a week or three and should appeal to those among you who adore your sounds dimpled in the kind of softly alluring Francophile noir sound-scapes that once upon a time peppered the catalogues of duophonic and Wurlitzer jukebox whilst simultaneously imagining a late summers evening studio soiree, gathering together Pram, L’Augmentation, Broadcast, Monade and Stereolab types to craft out blissfully beguiled noir chic. Utterly entrancing.
Where has the sun gone asks Mat Motte – ‘fraid to say its in our garden where its been for the last few days. Oh the joys of the British summertime. As dependable as politicians and the national team we laughingly call a football squad, it centres around that round yellow thing in the sky that people oft mistake for extra-terrestrial visitors given we as a nation are not generally used to seeing it. Anyhow enough grumbling and over to Mat Motte to happily take over the reigns. Mat was formerly of Mower – an ensemble much adored around these here parts many moons ago who in their brief tenure released a handful of nuggets on Mr Coxon’s esteemed transcopic imprint. Imminent on plethora records is ’summer song’ – a master class in the art of nailing to the floor the classic ingredients of an – erm – sub four minute pop nugget – sarcasm, grumbling and keen eyed witticisms aplenty come stapled to a ludicrously memorable and criminally catchy chorus line that stares mournfully beneath gloomy overcast skies longing to be somewhere else all bitter sweetly feel good in tone, insanely infectious, ridiculously hum-able, acutely bright eyed and fizzy and sunburning with radiating effervescence and which – deserving of a mention – goes all ELO in critical meltdown at the finale – there’s an album to come – yes. http://www.soundcloud.com/matmotte/summer-song-radio-edit
Ready for some fluffily smoked smooch groove, okay admittedly it’s a little too pop for our normally acquired tastes but there’s something about the nocturnally shimmered glacial lunar soul pop being transmitted through our earphones by Brooklyn’s Wet that has us allured and transfixed. ‘move me’ comes pulled from a forthcoming Kitty Cash mixtape ‘love the free II’ due for aural alignment with sound cloud world shortly and finds Wet somewhat lost in the moment posting love noted secret diaries that ooze in romance and shy eyed wonder and arrive all sumptuously purred atop an airless orbiting glitch grooved r’n’b motif. http://www.soundcloud.com/kittycash/wet-move-me
Blimey this lot take no prisoners, okay not as brutal as Nails or as grim and edgy as OvO, but there’s something equally unforgiving and threatening in the way ’Schadenfreude’ suffocates you in unbridled hopelessness laying blister fused eggs armed to impact at any given moment. Welcome to despair folks happily brought to bear upon your listening space by death metallers Goatwhore. This happy slice of doom dread apocalyptic warfare comes ripped from the New Orleans’ combos forthcoming sixth set ’constricting rage of the merciless’. the band have just been confirmed as guests of Dying Fetus on the their winter European tour. http://www.loudwire.com/goatwhore-schadenfreude-exclusive-song-premiere/
Drop dead demurring dream pop anyone, previously visited upon in these pages when we fondly swooned to the acutely jet stream kissed ‘wavy gravy’ way back January time, new thing from Aussie shoe gazers Flyying Colours sees them stealing a march on fellow purveyors of shimmering nu-gaze Dead Leaf Echo with the vapour trailing ’not today’. astutely described in passing by their press folk as ’slowdive busking to stereolab’s ’french disko’ (kinda makes the need to review a bit superfluous – but hey ho) this babe hurtles at speed into the eye of a shimmering sonic supernova engineered by the Clerks and the Insect Guide (which ought at some point no doubt will turn the ears of either Messrs Boom or Guthrie before too long one suspects) all framed in swathes of feedback swoons and possessed of the kind of cool, as f*** shade adorned swagger of the Jesus and Mary Chain replete with the added seduction of being awash in all manner of star showers. Available via the ever vital Club AC30 imprint. Alas no sound links just yet.
Update – links here –
There are Theatre royal and Marianne Dissard albums promised soon, for though a little something from Broderick and Barnes via the admired V’68 imprint. Information is a little scant on these dudes but its rumoured that former lives were spent in Singing Loins. Two tracks feature within, ’simmer you down’ is your standard wired to the teeth strut gouged slab of psychosis that spits and vents about veering awkwardly between obsession and agitation whilst coiled with a demented after hours darkly macabre cabaret framing that had us for a second reaching for our prized stash of David Cronenberg’s Wife releases. That said we’re a little smitten by the flip cut, the pristine pop panache of ’radio’ – a full on croonville cutie that blossoms to reveal the most adoring chorus anthem you’re ever likely to here all year which to these ears sounds as though its been sneaked from a mislaid Kinks songbook by Babybird and brought into full on Technicolor majesty by Morton Valence whose scant scribbled remit for said turn was to cobble something in the style of Pete Wylie in full on pomp glory – likely to cause tears of joy and the re-marketing of the wily old transistor to the yoof of today – poor loves are still reeling over revelations of the cassette…..
Must apologise to whoever it was in the band who recently sent an email enquiring whether or not we’d received a package of CD’s they’d sent out following fond words cobbled together here – we’ve mislaid the email you see – and to answer your query – er no we haven’t – another one to add to the growing list of items lost due to the ineptness of Royal Mail. Really is scandalous. Anyhow enough of the grumbles – Art Trip and the Static Sound – for it is they who were enquiring after those now confirmed lost in transit CD’s have an album ‘nothing is static’ set for dansette damage via fiasco records shortly (16/08 if your wanting specifics) from which they are currently airing track 9 ‘bathtub’ – and a big beardy post punking fuzzed out psychedelic shakedown it is to rippling in the kind of psychotropic mind melts and old school beatnik ju-ju that should at first instance prove something of attraction for those digging the wig flipped grooves flying out of the Cardinal Fuzz stable, although that said just between you and me you understand, sounds like the Bardo Pond on steroids. Here’s the link though I suspect we’ll be told to pull it sharpish….here goes – 5, 4,3,2.….
Having already toured with the likes of James Yorkston and providing key support roles for the likes of Alasdair Roberts, Low and Efterklang the stock worth of Mark McCambridge more familiarly known to the record buying cognoscenti as Aborist is steadily outstripping initial forecasts. References to Cohen, Molina and Callahan aren’t likely thrown his way for his sound is possessed of an unreal classicism and turn of phrase that one suspects pop has long since forgotten. new single ’border blood’ finds McCambridge surrounded by a troop of trusted friends and celebrated musicians crafting out a lushly demurred sleepy headed gem seductively swooned in lolloping banjos, sighing strings and the lazy eyed croon of opining steels sea breezing the night air, utterly adorable in the way it delicately knocks you off balance with its mellowing shanty like murmurs and prairie purrs and quite possibly the most arresting thing outside of a low anthem nugget we’ve had the pleasure of hearing in an age, admirers of soft parade’s criminally neglected ’nobody told you anything’.
And now for two damn fine nuggets recommended by the rnr666 site that are well worth checking out…..
First up on the inspection blocks Wax Witches whose forthcoming album ’centre of your universe’ should be finding its way out Burger / Stop Start Music records shortly. Wax Witches is better known to friends and family as bedroom noise nik Alex Wall whose sounds are described in passing as party punk and who are we to argue for ’theme song’ as short as it is – just 54 seconds – packs more ambition, fun and effervescence into its confined grooving than most bands manage to muster in a lifetime. A kind of fuzz throbbed mid way point joining the finite dots existing between the Ramones and Ariel Pink with a smidgeon of the Pooh Sticks for added inconvenience all haloed in beaming sheens of 50’s bubble groove pop and west coast after burns – recommended for the donning of shades. Better still the anti pop pout of glam kaleidoscopia of ‘you’re not my idol so I shouldn’t be you’ – a strut lushed slab of buzz thrilled sexiness all shoehorned into a horny three minute love bomb. http://www.rnr666.hu/sixline/20140711/from-new-records-274
Next up a joint release on Italo imprint Brigadisco and Swiss label old bicycle records both of whom I’m suspecting you may be hearing more from over the course of time not least because we‘ve just received a package from the latter and a friend request from the former. Futeisha is the solo guise of La Piramide de Sangue guitarist Juan Francisco Scassa (a band who you well recall we’re fondly acclaimed here for their recent opus for the esteemed boring machines imprint). Limited to just 100 cassette copies (all sure to fly the coup in nano time) ‘Dannato’ is comprised of ten wyrd psychotropic folk suites that speak in lost archaic tongues from which we here have been most taken by the opening salvo ’Temujin’. a ghostly apparition emerging from the dark side of the Bardo Pond, a mystical magic carpet ride hollowed in dust ravaged auras and spirited along upon transcendental arabesque mistrals, something which should these ears not deceive, ought to find affection among admirers of both Aritomo and the Sand Snowmen. http://www.brigadiscorecords.bandcamp.com/album/futeisha-dannato-tape
Third of that promised trio of early contenders for the prized end of the year best album accolade (the new Wizards Tell Lies – another incidentally – is primed for review next missive out). A little later than planned due to variously unplanned and unforeseen shenanigans at the Sunday Experience out for summer tent in the park. ‘Will.I.Am, you’re really nothing’ the latest from the uber tastic wired psych hobo pop alchemists the Bordellos – this nations saving grace I hear you cry – and we’d wholeheartedly agree especially given this unvarnished lo-fi lovely is so wrong its right. A twisted and fractured bad boy that as much refuses easy categorization as it does in following the merry band wagon trooped by the psychedelic pied piper of today’s nu gaze floppy fringes. All at once awkward, agitated and adorable, the Bordellos appear happy ransacking your record collection, sniffing at your life listening choices and then proceeding to show you how it should be done. Out via Small Bear records it’s the ridiculously limited CD version that you should be exchanging your hard earned spondoolies for, attractive eye catching 50’s styled golden age sci-fi cover work by Phil Wilson of the June Brides and the added attraction of two bonus EP’s – last years ’bring me the head of Justin Bieber’ and a new collection ’extra smooth’ should see that all important investment a well worth punt. ’Will.I.Am, you’re really nothing’ is the sound of a band comfortable in their own skin, remote of influence and distraction operating in their own sonic universe and making up the rules as they plough along. Soured in retrospection and riddled with bite, ‘Will.I.am’ is perhaps the Bordellos most turbulently emotional offering to date for snucked in between the cleverly extracted anti-pop verve (this album crawls with the stuff) there are moments of head bowed hurt – not least the opening salvo the souring soul sear of ‘between forget and neglect’ and the reflective opining ache trembling through the hollowing ‘the sweetest hangover‘. On ‘extra smooth’ there’s scarcely a dry eye in the house with its deepest cut mournfulness stabbing cruelly in a way that to these ears and memory only the great Louden one could ever muster succinctly to songform. If full on love notes scratched in the style of the Fall’s ‘Bill is Dead’ is what sends your heart a fluttering then the sparsely rain swept ‘straight outta Southport’ may just fill that aching gap. Previously mentioned in despatches the warping ‘elastic band man’ a tripping slab of disquieting psychosis that sets its wonky radar in the general slacker direction of simple kid’s ‘the road’ and adds to it an overripe dollop of Beck for added freaky measure. With barely a chance to unscramble your headspace ‘the gospel according to Julian Cope’ fires in to fry your fringes in a display of wild freakish psych soul providing ample evidence that on their day these dudes can kick out psyched out nuggets at the drop of a mind bending tab. Likewise on ‘harmonium glass‘ wherein they veer into fractured no wave psych corridors. ‘moonface’ – again previously picked up on is a smoking noir slice of Scott Walker meets Doors genius. Those much admiring of the stripped down minimalist rock-a-hula of Suicide / Revolutionary Corps of Teenage Jesus are best advised to fast forward through the grooves the splintering death disco dallying ‘my dream festival’. In terms of doing it for us drop dead cool moments none really come close to touching the title track, a mutating soft psych babe that really can’t make up its mind whether it wants to be a classically drilled Bunnymen flip cut, a touch of trance toned Fall perfection a la ‘telephone thing’ or flowered up so instead opts to chemically fuse them all. That said ‘bring me the head of Justin Bieber’ is no shrinking violet, a frenzied feedback scowling venom venting aural assault on Canada’s talent less brat and heads up the JMC inspired ’Bieber’ EP which as it happens our copy has an additional unlisted cut which appears be a rephrased version of ’going out tonight’. Best moment of the set time alert – a truly draining affair which I don’t mind admitting tears well up on each listen, ‘running back to you’ is just simply crushing. Quietly epic, poised and majesty its crafted with such heartbreaking measure you can almost imagine the Big O running riot all over this. Available via small bear – http://www.smallbearrecords.com
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As ever take care of yourselves…..xx
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