archiv – visitations

from many years ago – this once appeared on happy happy birthday to me records…..



Happy happy birthday to me records

Goes to show exactly what to much fun can do to a poor soul. Davey Wrathgaber rounds up his friends for a spot of moonlighting when the rest of Fable Factory’s backs are turned. Barring anymore releases from Volcano the Bear this year, ‘Visitations’ is by far one of the strangest and puzzlingly enduring releases to be found. Wrathgaber provides considerable evidence of the breadth and width of musical styles, creating pure pop fabrics and intertwining darkened twists into their designs.

Let’s get the pleasantry’s out of the way. ‘Visitations’ is an oddly strewn release. Those expecting the happy go lucky wackiness of the Fable Factory will be justly disappointed, as Wrathgaber reveals his darker side. Sure enough ‘Vistations’ is littered with a head messing array of twisted nursery rhyme imagery such as ‘S.F.G.O.L.’; however where elements of Fable Factory’s arsenal deliver proud to be loud car stereo blastouts, playing certain bits of ‘Visitations’ strictly above the level of cats hearing would probably be considered illegal in certain states of the U.S.

Once your over the enterprising gruesome shock of the opening cut ‘grease monkey’, it’s peverse prose and crude imagery abruptly alert the senses that this is indeed a far from easy to digest listening experience. ‘It’s superstition’ springs abound toting fuzz guitars that sound like a manic army of kazoos, the sounds bouncing menacingly from speaker to speaker, try imagining the Mummies with less speed and aggression being penned and arranged by Stewart Copeland. ‘Blessed flying object’ partly rips the ‘Close encounters’ riff before wallowing in it’s own surreal magnificence, referencing Brian Jones sitar era Stones chemically sugared by the Butthole Surfers cover of ‘Hurdy gurdy man’, psyche purist such as the head druid himself, Mr Cope will adore this.

Strange as it may seem, favoured track ‘S.F.G.O.L.’ has me recalling the menace of Big Black and the eccentricity of Sonic Youth at their finest without resorting to swollen eared feedback rushes and the impeccable diversity of Captain Beefheart, imparting a wicked mix of rant and schoolyard harmonies. ‘The brown clown’ smothers itself in dragging rhythms, scratch the surface and you’ll be entertained to a slice of bristling bubblegum pop at 45rpm but being played at 33rpm.

Wrapping up the proceedings, how many records can you name with the word pugilist in the title? Not many if any I’ll bet, ‘The disappointing pugilist’ , (which for those unaware is a professional boxer not a strange complaint picked up picked up from sleeping in strange beds), just has to be heard, very eerie indeed.

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