various – QRD – the guitarists

Another release that somehow managed to lose itself in the horror that was the blue screen of death – a matter further handicapped by the fact that we’ve mislaid our original written guide notes – is a mammoth undertaking by the Silber imprint whose recent catalogue and buoyant activity therein is much deserving of a peak, something which I hasten to add we will all in good time once we find a spare hour or two. For now though ‘QRD – the guitarists’ – a hulking gathering of the undergrounds finest practitioners of the six string set across 4 hours of music taking in 55 contributions covers a wealth of sonic spectrums from noise, ambient, dream, shoe gaze, drone and more and within including a real labour of love – a 2000 plus page ebook hosting 20 years worth of interviews with over 150 guitarists. An immense achievement and something that in time we suspect will deservedly be referenced rightly so as legendary. Alas due to time constraints and as previously noted – the annoying fact that we’ve not only lost our original review but with it our own hand scribbled guide notes – we’ll for now just cherry pick a few familiar friends from the extensive list. First up on the inspection blocks – Yellow6 – with ‘set your heart on the stars’ which finds Mr Atwood loosening up and go all fuzzy and psychotropic in a kind of a mind lost heading space wards and beyond Julian Cope style and gouging the fracturing edges in lashings of down n’ dirty stoned out blues which aside appealing to those shade adorning floppy fringe types among you ought to attract the attention of those tuned into the spiked psych of primordial undermind. Next up Azalia Snail who sent us a lovely little notes along with sound files of new stuff which for the life of me – for now – we’ve lost sight (and ear) of – for now though while we go off in search of the errant tykes there’s always the quite wonderful ‘getting lei’d’ to be going on with, just adoring the candy skinned flavoured pop oozing through this, all dissipating sea breezy vibes and lazy eyed demurring inclines that lend their way to fondly recalling dreamy days misspent lying beneath tree shades cutting surreal shapes from out of the passing wispy clouds above. Plumerai’s Martin Newman undergoes something of a psychotic overdrive for ‘secondhand emotion’ – seriously tripping stuff and just out there stoked and smoked out on bonged out hazes of hulking psychotropics on board some mystic astral ride which midway through sumptuously blossoms to reveal delicate hints of Goblin’s ‘suspiria’ being spiked and fractured by sonic sun spot activity. Fruits de Mer regulars Sendelica are serviced here by Peter Bingham whose ‘sendelica soundscape #2’ provides for a mind wiping 6 minute head kick of woozy oriental hypnosis, reality altering mirages and looping dream machine cycles which should you need sonic reference markers we’d be prone to say that admirers of Roy Montgomery will dig in an instant. Silber head man and Remora dude Brian John Mitchell opts for some deeply demurring glacial sereneness for ‘hills of elfshima’ which comes kissed in the kind mesmeric cradt we’ve come to know and expect from such riff patrons as Wil Bolton and David A Jaycock. It’s been way too long for our liking since Bill Horist had occasion to visit upon these pages, ‘ours scars of braille withheld’ is lovingly frost sculptured, isolationist drone for the best part that strangely finds him a tad quiet and withdrawn exploring inner sound  spaces to flesh out a tapestry of  shimmering orbs and bowed instrumentations- but be honest you didn’t expect matters to remain so – er – normal and tranquil, good – because matters take a turn at the 3.45 mark and things start to unravel and fracture into a sublime groan of white noise oblivion a la Bruce Russell. That said those preferring their listening space shimmered in twilight hazed astral folk mirages will do well to seek out Alan Sparhawk’s ‘la la daughter mouth’ for required daily dosage intakes of mellowing blissfulness and well just for the hell of it drawn as we were by the title alone – ‘we found a chocolate cake in a basket broken in two pieces’ Julien Ottavi applies himself to turning in 7 minutes of sonic shrapnel courtesy of the type of groaning doom dusted reverbs and off the wall riff bending that sofas were made for to hide behind.

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