archiv – singled out – missive 295…

another dig into the archives, from 2011, this first appeared via and features –

aiva, john stammers, kramford look, wizards tell lies, dent may, sharliza jelita, soft hearted scientists, rubicks, the jumpin quails, apache dropouts, penny and the quarters, milkmaid, the playmakers, schizo fun addict, astrid williamson, earthling society, lozninger, dark captain, lady north, paws

missive 295


Singled Out

Missive 295


‘do not adjust your turntable’


Intermittent correspondences from the back of the speakers.


I know I hinted that this batch of missives would have – shall we say – a psych styled chemical flavouring to them that was to be called ‘a psyche and other sonic sorcery special with additional sonic shrapnel’ but hey things happen or in this case don’t. ho hum. And so here we go again – apologies time for the overly delayed transmission of this particular missive or missives as this beast has grown a tad these last few weeks proving to all as you will see that it hasn‘t all been a case of us sitting on our hands in the intervening period – indeed heaven forbid we do that – instead we’ve been peppering our up date sites at and – both of which you are heartily encouraged to drop by, mooch around, perhaps hang around for a cup of tea and a chat or perhaps just to simply stop by and say hello. Flattery and the bribery of records always does the trick I find.


Where I live at the moment is a one of those new estates that appear to be popping up everywhere, you know the ones all identical, characterless and very droll looking – its like those mentioned in the Monkees hit ’pleasant valley Sunday’ but without the valley’s or indeed the pleasantness with the Sunday as in the one so delightfully observed by Moz on his barnstorming hits of the pops ‘everyday is like Sunday’ racked up to factor 10. Anyhow it was on such a Sunday like this – yesterday in fact that purely through boredom we were doing a little researching on that there you tube thing. Its been since then that we’ve been somewhat disturbed by weird goings on at chez singled out cardboard city with natty record deck. Stumbling across and getting consumed by all the videos on you tube warning of the illuminati and their ultimate aim to control the world and ready it for the anti Christ or something – or was that the script and plot for the Omen. Anyhow purely accidental that we hooked up to them but tremendous viewing all the same if you are into conspiracy theories with details on the 17 families responsible for the deceit quietly ushering the globe towards a certain apocalypse – stop me if this sounding a little like a Doctor Who or Torchwood (note triangles, pyramids and the all seeing eye being a recurring feature on the new series’ – you can tell I‘m getting into this can‘t you) script but its great stuff with things about doppelganger Pope’s, anti gravity technology, costless fuel sources, the deliberate collapsing of economies, abilities to control weather disasters and secret societies and UFO’s – kind of a condensed X Files without the misery of having to sit through the last two series and featuring a cast of people we’ve all heard of with so called eminent authorities chatting earnestly about crystal skulls and the fact that the planet is in a different solar system than it was in last year – really. I spent most of the viewing wondering whether to laugh or cry or worse worry that I was breathing the same air as these people. I guess if you want to see something you can arrange and manipulate all manners of things to prove or likewise disprove a fact or suggestion. But then the phone calls started which is odd because we haven’t got a phone – I jest of course – I just use it to play music – don’t like the blighter and anyway when it does ring its usually someone demanding money that I haven’t got. And so we get these calls at odds times of the day – times of the day that where someone calling you then it means there’s been a death, an accident or Bonio’s been elected Pope – more about Bonio in a second – with the number showing blocked I thought two can play at that game you don’t want me knowing who you are and so I won’t answer. But the calls continued – and in a pattern – 3 on the trot then two on the one and a solitary one at 2 hourly intervals the result of which curiosity got the better and I answered and nothing was there not even the click of a call being ended. Just silence. Worse was to come – in need of fresh air we decided to walk down to the local newsagents for cigarettes and various other essential life needs – a lighter. However on our return home we were slightly disturbed to find our records had been replaced by evil doppelgangers – where there once sat leaning up against the hi-fi was various essentials via subliminal sounds, trunk, sundazed and other taste making imprints there now sat – we say sat as the hi-fi had been replaced by a repulsive and unloved looking shiny midi system adorned by kiddie pop cd’s of no consequence, even the cat had had a makeover the once hulking ginger and white Dylan was now a rank looking black and white thing with the mange and a bad attitude. And to cap it off the blighters had even redecorated the gaff – and badly in a grim shade of Nan favourite – Magnolia. It was then that from out of the corner of my eye I noticed with dread – a U2 record with mad Bonio smiling madly from the cover – and then it dawned on me – even in my wildest nightmares I’d never have a U2 record in the house – I had accidentally walked into the wrong house mistaking it for mine. I hastily hot footed it out though not before grabbing an armful of U2 records – because according those hush hush videos on you tube the Bonio is a member and so just to be on the safe side we built a little funeral pyre in the garden and burnt the buggers along with a few Phil Collins ones for double good measure.


Quote or else wordy bit that has us a chuckling out loudly was Mark Ellen’s non committal comment on the recent riots which ended when mentioning an incident in Dalston wherein would be looters were confronted by shop owning Turks brandishing snooker cues whereupon someone was later heard to remark – ‘bloody immigrants – coming over here and bravely defending our neighbourhoods and communities’.


Without any further waffling -n some records you should own….by the way these missives will refer backwards and forwards erratically this being due to the fact that we were half writing these reviews often on the cuff going back a little later to complete and copy n’ paste – hopefully that’ll explain why the references and links might be a little skewed….oh and can I remind all not to send stuff to Italy – there’s been something of an issue with this – the Italians guys do not send / forward releases to me – it has become unfortunately a massive gripe with me – if you need an address then use – for now…..or else drop us a note via face book

Aiva ‘pink moon’ – received a very brief email introducing this little cutie – a cover of an old Nick Drake nugget by Washington based Aiva who here sets about cradling said cut in the most lilting of snow tipped dream crushes the likes of which that have rarely been heard around these here parts since that criminally lonesome Heather Duby debut albeit here as though sprinkled with magic dust provided by a Dream Academy in cahoots with the Shortwave Set and sculptured as were in an igloo crafted and carved by Mum and decorated by Hafdis Huld, utterly divine and needs to be heard right now which is handy really because this here link gets you a download gratis….no excuses then…


John Stammers ‘ep’ (wonderful sound). Been an absolute age since we had anything by John Stammers subduing our hi-fi listening space, first single aside and an EP from the wonderful sound imprint – home as you all should know to the mighty Superimposers – its been a fair few years and really we should take umbrage that such a gap is no help or cure to a shy soul whose listening needs long and pang for the sound of something delicately dreamy and nimble. Of course we simmer behind a veil of agitated bewilderment having found out that Mr Stammers has somewhere along the way released a full length to which somehow has seen fit to pass us by (mind you this bitter pill has been somewhat diluted upon hearing of new albums by the Crimea, the real Tuesday Weld and Oddfellows Casino which have likewise seen fit not to trouble our listening radar – ho hum). Three tracks feature on this limited edition outing (which should you see will come resplendently pressed upon 7 inches of wax) – one original offing of a cut previously only available on the vinyl edition of Stammers debut long playing platter and the other two being lovingly remixed by Messrs Colorama and the Kramford Look. Trimmed with an airy rustic incline ‘the fridge’ sighs and soars with a prairie lilting gracefulness all trembled with a hopeful optimism and drizzled by the captivating countrified waltz of opining steel pedals and the serenading of Fahey informed delta dinks – homely is the word I’m reaching for. Left in the hands of Carwyn Ellis – better known to record buying enthusiasts as Colorama (who I‘m certain we‘ve featured in these pages briefly at one time or another – and who if not apologies given for we will at some stage if you send records that is ha ha – nothing like gentle persuasion) – ’Idle I’m’ is sumptuously shimmered in a lulling lazy eyed 60’s aspect that purrs with a seductive ambience trained by a lights lowered nocturnal silken sophistication of sepia stained kitchen sink drama echoes and down tempo tuned lounge lushness – more unless I’m much mistaken. Just edging in ‘the damn this good stakes’ is the Kramford Look’s re-visualising of ’your guess is as good as mine’ which shall we say for arguments sake and clarity is touched with an unworldly Meek-fied presence and draped in a vintage velour that’s wrapped in tingling dream weaved lunar optics and tripped out harpsichord recitals to which endow upon it a sense of touching and timid monochromatic majesty. Gem like in short.


Sticking with the Kramford Look – the latest darlings of the Wonderful Sound set – they are about to woo one and all with their impending debut full length entitled ’1970’. the duo – Pierre D and Dan – we do wonder whether this be the same Dan as in Dan Solo it seems have a thing for vintage instrumentation and have amassed a veritable arsenal of retro keyboards – korgs, casios and autoharps in order the cultivate an authentic – well ‘1970‘ sound what else – which by the sounds as offered up by the sampler player to be found at – appears

A wigged out happening brew into whose succulent and sultry seductive stew lounge library modals and chill toned freakouts pepper the grooves to a trip dipped funked out cortege of mystic mantras, noir spy themes and elevator salsa to which echoes of Edwin Astley, John Barry, Henry Mancini and Barry Gray flirt seductively with the modernist retro chic of L’Augmentation, Pram, Plone, Zombi and of course Stereolab


Sticking with Wonderful Sound matters a little while longer there’s a gorgeous remix sampler available in conjunction via the Paris based Collette record shop – the ‘summer’ ep gathers together 7 remixes including all three cuts featured on the aforementioned John Stammers EP along with a trio of recalibrated Superimposers goodies which include amongst their number an utterly divine sun drenched west coast radiant ‘its all history’ featuring Ashley Beedle. If you tune your pc radar in the general direction of for a chance to hook up to the latest irregular broadcast of the wonderful sound libraries pod cast – this edition featuring guests Zooey – we suggest you turn up the volume somewhere around the 14 minute to bathe in the amorphous sounds of jed and lucia in the shape of the bewitching ’april showers’ taken from their ’superhuman heart’ set which you can download for a fee via


Much admired with a fair degree of fondness around this here parish word reaches us from afar that Wizards tell lies are currently ensconced in secret recording facilities mixing potions for what promises to be an EP follow up to their much adored debut full length platter released earlier this year via the first fold imprint. Incubatory sound sources that have so far leaked into the cyber ether appear to suggest that the mysterious dark dons of psychic disorder are heavily immersed in tuneful terrains once frequented by the criminally undervalued 70 Gwen Party and Depth Charge albeit as though the two camps were battling it out in a head locked battle for groove space assertion, here to the bleak monochromatic blur of industrial toil and grind the desolate peeling of a mutant post apocalyptic mass chimes grimly across the charred landscapes where once upon turntables bright wax adventures by the likes of test department, 1919 and killing joke played, we blame Shift of at war with false noise fame – the Wizards also appear – apparently – well we say apparently because we haven’t seen or heard the art journal with accompanying CD – called premier pli again via first fold – which includes illustrations by head wizard matt bower and a little one minute ditty on the included compacto disco thingamabob that hides within said artefact – all details and stuff is somewhere here……


Dent May ‘fun’ (paw tracks). We won’t begin to deny that Mr May’s debuting ‘the feeling good music….’ from a year or two ago was a constant listening attraction in the singled out shed of sounds, sprinkled with fairy dust it was a psyche pierced potent platter of wired and kooky power pop as deviously daft as it was a day dreaming delight. Now back after a brief hiatus with another dose of west coast wafting loveliness, this tantalising twin set arrives on limited amounts of clear wax and for the more keen eyed among you on strictly limited issue cassette – a variation of which we want – ’fun’ radiates to a vintage piping of coolly effervescent mid 70’s transistor trims, kinda Dennis Wilson moonlighting with Michael Nesmith and Gram Parsons’ backing band the Fallen Angels and congregating to distil shots of tingle toned sun smoked slices of smoothly mellowed drive pop. ’wedding day’ over on the flip – the preferred side in our gaff – is offset with an ear catching lazy eyed funk strut that instils for the best part an acutely infectious trippy demeanour to this shyly intoxicating slice of sun shining lilt pop drenched as it is in honey toned harmonies, wonky keys and beaten up flea market purchased drum machine beats – reference wise imagine a thrift store version of the Beach Boys – blissfully perfect.



Soft Hearted Scientist ‘wander moon’ (the hip replacement). Frequent observers of these musings will all to likely be aware of our fondness for this lot for these Cardiff based psyche wired minstrels trip merrily to a timeless tapestry that cosy toes amid eccentric worlds where the surreal meet the ethereal melt and dissolve into a body locked caress, upon a sonic pageantry tempered and crafted between the magical, mythical and the mystical these merry pranksters play to a mercurial muse draped in kaleidoscopic dream coats that run amok amid the vivid Victoriana speckled imaginarium of Syd Barrett. Here to the distant echo of the Gorki’s Zygotic Mynci these Soft Hearted Scientist types weave a luxuriant aural texture possessed of the finest freak folk threads dyed and dinked to a peculiar though distantly familiar olde English velour that’s lovingly stitched with an intricate handicraft.


Between these grooves elements of Vivian Stanshall, Freed Unit, Giant Paw and the Murmurs of Irma obscure beneath the woozy eeriness of the kookily crooked mind warping arrangements, over the floral festooned wall of the perfumed garden and to an English eccentricity distilled in pagan Mayday recitals ’wandermoon’ is a vintage pickled draft of olde peculiar. To the daydream key turn of clock working signatures, chiming madrigals, warping keys and lulling music boxes ‘mountain delight’ ushers in the strange and the beguiling, from here on in all reality is suspended as though you’ve somehow fallen through the back of a wardrobe and found the far side decorated in kaleidoscopic hues rather than a white blind snowed imagery. And before you’ve gained your sense of wherewithal the lolloping lazy eyed love note that is ‘the trees don’t seem to know its September’ seduces and serenades to a cradling of sepia trimmed music hall playfulness much echoing McCartney’s more reflective and introspective vintage poise as found on the Beatles ’magical mystery tour’. the sweetly honeycombed paisley purred ’arrival song’ tenderly demurs to a prettified pastoral Canterbury folk accent one part Greg Lake several parts Peter Gabriel as though mixed by a mid career Kinks. All said it’s the parting 10 minute farewell ’westward leaning’ that steals the set, ghostly key changes, drip dried lysergic laments and soft psyche shimmers are trained and trip wired in a classically eyed vintage that would suggest its been steam washed in the Ptolemaic terrascope tumbler on a Bevis Frond setting.



Sharliza Jelita ‘no go pogo’ – audaciously cute, irrefutably impish and so damn catchy with it that it ought by rights to come with a World Health Organisation citation stamped across its hide. ‘no go pogo’ is the debut single from Sharliza Jelita and serves as a well heeled taster for her forthcoming full length entitled ‘strange things’ mooted for unwrapping just after Christmas time. Who is Sharliza Jelita you may well ask – well she at one time headed up the rrr’s whose debuting ‘my valentine’ single wooed and wowed us to the point of distractive delirium on its appearance some three summers ago (see missive 163). Now minus the band this dolly day dream dynamo acutely dishes out finitely pristine slices of preciously perfect and effervescently radiant beat grooved bubblegum pop like a one woman Martha and the Vandellas albeit had the Vandellas been headed up by a youthful Eartha Kitt and spiked by the brittleness of Shonen Knife trading 50’s sha la la motifs with a coolly shade adorned Go Go’s.


Here’s a moving picture show to accompany said cut…….warning for viewers of a nervous disposition – it features Tony the Tiger, cakes and woo woo’s aplenty……its cute an all…….





Rubicks ‘black and blue’ (sharp attack). Culled from their imminent ‘rise of the giddy’ full length which we must admit is getting a bit of a hammering on the old singled out sound box this here cut is another freebie download available from the bands (I think) reverberation web page, ’black and blue’ is a deliciously damaged and hollowed slice of frosted electro noir pop cut from several parts Melys at their most fragile and vulnerable and equal measures of torch trimmed ‘miss the girl’ era Creatures cross stitched to the glacial psychosis and chilled seduction of Cobra Killer and Client with the spectral presence of a ’numb’ era Portishead presiding over proceedings – nuff said I think you’ll agree now seek out that killer full length set.


The jumpin’ quails ‘bishops in tea shops’ (sounday). Would we blame you for not having heard of the jumpin’ quails – certainly not for it seems Turin’s psych scented urchins are seemingly content to hide their kooky and crooked aural alchemy under a frazzled and fried bushel with information being so scant that even their press agents mischievously play to the air of mystery by hinting at little for consumption other than to say that the Python-esque title sounding ’bishops in tea shops’ is the sextets second album following 2008’s debuting ’what’s your jump like’ for the green cookie imprint – a copy of which we fear our record collection will suffer restless nights until safe in the knowledge that one has been ensnared.


There’s appears no set genre tying box into which to seal and sell the Jumpin Quails, while possessed of an obvious love of 60’s sourced lysergic pop firmed up with a knowledge grounded in beat grooved garage beat the ensemble impish betray of schizoid new wave playfulness which sees their sound bend and buckle to a melodic chemical imbalance as it swerves with fringe flicking lemon popsicle flippancy to tune awkwardly into all manner of butter kissed candy pop, cow punk (as on ‘goodbye pussycat‘), snotty punk recitals (per the Damned-esque ‘gorgeous flesh‘), strut tipped latino bop (as on the preciously infectious ’watch out’), dragster twang and the kind of zany off radar artistry that dips with alarming acuteness between the Cardiacs (with both the opening brace ‘green flamingo’ and ‘than today’ providing ample aural ammunition for those preferring their listening experiences a tad wired, wonky and distilled with the hallucinogenic fractured symphonic artistry of Tim Smith and Co) and the Raspberries whilst along the way taking pit stop breaks via the Sparks (the electroid glammed out goofiness of ‘I met George Stephenson in my garden‘), Stranglers (’talk to your father a lie‘), XTC, Beatnik Filmstars, they might be giants (none more so is this the case than on grinding countrified cutie ’a dysfunctional wave is coming from the south and I’m wet’) and Devo. Cuts such as ‘marigot bay’ purr to a shimmying 60’s soft psyche dimpled surf pop coda that swirls with lysergic haste to a distant echo of Del Shannon and Johnny Kidd and the Pirates albeit as though freshly spruced with their sound updated by the collective bonding of Martha and the Muffins, Barracudas and Wall of Voodoo types. Best of the set though in our humbled opinion is the senses disorientating ’lunar 2079’ wherein amid the peculiar piping of skittish time signatures the hand of a youthful Moulding and Partridge consort to frazzle your focus by way of a psychotic cross matching of Purple Gang and Pretty Things DNA sound samples.


Apache Dropout ‘sister burnout’ (trouble in mind). Rounded this up on a brief visit to our local emporium whose sole purpose was the picking up of those two must have Left Banke vinyl re-issues via Sundazed – very tasty they look and sound to – we’ve heard on the grapevine that the Shindiggers are doing an extended feature in their forthcoming issue – bout time we say given they are an oft undervalued 60’s main player. So where were we – ah yes Apache Dropout – like I said picked this up today based on the can’t go wrong recommendation of it being pressed up on the trouble in mind imprint who after this we will be keeping eyes a peeled for future outings and also down to the fact that it was pressed up on green marble vinyl and came housed in a snazzy though clearly basic but eye catching all the same in house die cut paper sleeve. Coloured vinyl, a label we’d never heard of and an attractive sleeve housing – hell we were sold scarcely before a note a note was played. Now we made the necessary adjustments resulting from a disabling ear infection that we’ve picked which makes everything we hear sound a tad enhanced treble wise and the fact that the pressing or / and our stylus might be suffering a similar affliction but hell does this sound rough – that’ll be rough in a good way – like a crackling acetate – were recording microphones actually in the same zip code let alone same room when they recorded this – not that that’s a complaint – kind of adds to the vintage quotient. Story goes that this lot were picked up by Trouble in Mind following their fuzz dazed debut for Family Vineyard (rest assured we’ll nail a copy for further fond words) and had the dudes lay down two more shots of garage gouged groove – ‘shot down’ is a killer slab of swamp dragged 60’s psyche that’s about you like a rash the moment the stylus hits the wax, what first appears like some primitive prowling blues grind salvaged from a wasted on bad acid after hours session featuring a tab toking head on summit of Stones, Doors and Grateful types there emerges from the cacophonic shit faced primordial dragster goo an acutely cool as fuck shade adorned shimmer toned oblivion groove that’s up there with the Devastations ’leone’ albeit as though bruised and battered by the hand of Gallon Drunk. Equally tasty is ’sister burnout’ over on the flip, a psyched out slice of lysergic quirkiness that has all the aural accoutrements to have one suspecting that a Barrett era Floyd had been augmented by the stomping garage growl of the Seeds and the whacked out surreal pop toned wooziness of the Move only to find itself collectively relocated to some bliss kissed glam tagged Bolan-esque wet dream. Essential in a word.


Same shopping visit we hooked up to this…….


Penny and the Quarters ‘you and me’ (numero). Those guessing rightly that we rescued this from the dusted racks of obscurity and ignominy mainly based on its retro 60’s styled die cut sleeve take a bow. We are easily taken in and to be fair it’s a random speculative purchase radar that’s never failed us yet – well not recently anyway – apparently this little nugget became something of a surprise moment when it popped up in last years indie flick ’blue valentine’ a fact that went straight over my head I’m embarrassed to say though that said I’m still mourning the hour and a half wasted sitting through the Charlie Chan masquerading as bleak horror tedium that was the woeful whodunnit ’devil’. anyhow back to the script this cutie apparently turned up on a compilation of unmarked masters sometime in 2007 via the same label, at the time there was absolutely no information as to where, who and from when it emerged though since the success of the said aforementioned film and the songs ensuing exposure its come to light that it was recorded in the early 70’s and that the Penny in question was Nanny Sharpe backed by her brothers. As to the song itself a trembling slice of moon glowed and smoked doo wop soul that sounds for all the world as though its been time tunnelled from the 50’s with the ever so subtle distant trace elements of Sam Cooke’s ‘what a wonderful world’ delicately flavouring its grooves. Over on the flip you’ll find the previously unreleased and far superior ’you are giving me some other kind of love’ turning in the kind of exquisite gospel harmonic soul blues that souls such as the BDI’s are at ease to carve these days, what first appears like a heartbroken and crestfallen note distressed and cowed by a careless lover soon emerges as a killer f*** you goodbye swansong – a perfect cure all to the heartache of Etta James’ ’I’d rather go blind’.


Milk maid ‘dead wrong’ (fat cat). Disappointingly still haven’t heard that acclaimed debut full length ‘yucca’ – gnashing teeth don’t even cut it as far as describing how peeved we are, moaning and harrumphing aside this their latest single is a bit of a corker ‘dead wrong’ is your knee knocking till you swoon indie kissed bubblegum pop to a tee, the point at which the Modern Lovers and a ‘bandwagonesque’ era Teenage Fanclub converge after that is a night squabbling over a collective pouring of old glam nuggets on the dansette and a discovered shared mutual admiration for the Raspberries and the Ramones. On’t flip sits ’I know’ sounding like some lost stateside nugget by Guided by Voices reciting would be buzz sawed 50’s wannabe glories whilst drilled to a dandified day-glo dink that’s frazzled, fuzzy and slightly damaged around the edges recalling an up for it Schizo fun addict…..


Which is kinda handy because….


Schizo Fun Addict ‘pterodactyl’ (self released). Prized from their forthcoming long playing twin platter ‘sun yard’ – Jet Schizo reckons this might be their most menacing melody to date and I think he could be right because ’pterodactyl’ is a bit of a bad boy which through its self induced hyper driven hallucinogenic haze stomps a swaggering swirl swooning garage psych shake down that’s coolly astute and straight up close and personal replete as it is with full on mind fracturing pyrotechnics that aloofly flash poses to stare you down whilst perched upon a lysergic axis that separates the Mugstar and My Jealous God. Essential in a word.


The Playmakers ‘she’s a mystery’ (self released). Been a fair old while since we delved into my space (there will be an extended myspace feature booked for a near future missive) and on this occasion for good reason because this little cutie has we must admit caught us on the blind side and through repeat plays has grown on us to the point that we’re totally smitten with it. The playmakers hail from Cirencester and ‘she’s mystery’ is I’m assuming the first recorded fruits of what promises to be a band worth keeping an eye out for because once over the faux ‘love will tear us apart’ intro strum this shyly toned gem soon shapes up to sound as though its fallen from a late 80’s Peel play list given its drizzled in a bitter sweet over-casting to which admirers of the kind of lo-fi lovelorn twee thrilled tender pop put out by the likes of the Hoverchairs, Hey paulette, the siddeleys and latterly by Decoration will swoon and curl up to. More please and quick about it.


Astrid Williamson ‘pour’ (one little Indian). Quite bewitching this, the elegant ’pour’ finds itself culled from Williamson’s forthcoming full length ’pulse’ a frost tipped gem couched in a becoming noir draped flavouring that’s tripped and braided by the enchanting tread of glitched beats and the tender trail of a seducing sepia trimmed key montage amid whose finitely love noted velour a would be echoing cast of Heather Duby, Portishead, Massive Attack and Shortwave Set types flash fleetingly to mind. Utterly transfixing and dare we say arresting.



Earthling Society ‘stations of the ghost’ (4zero). Truly an experience to the beyond, Earthling Society crash land back at Earth HQ trailing in their tail smoke a hulking slab of genre morphing majesty and classicism. No strangers to these pages in recent times they’ve added to the rich tapestry provided by the esteemed and cult cool Fruits de Mer imprint, ’stations of the ghost’ is the ensembles 6th full length, as impressive a release and as richly rewarding a listening experience that you’re likely to hear all year that’s gilded in the same intoxicating majesty and astutely toned melodic intricacy as afforded by outings bearing the name Porcupine Tree and Dream Theater upon their hides.


That said that’s where the similarity ends for Earthling Society are too canny to be easily type cast for they straddle a terra forming landscape whose musical tongue licks upon elements of deep psych, floral folk, progressive rock, kraut, jazz and cosmic adventures. Its quite clear that the collective mind of the Earthling Society is wired a tad differently than most, its radar tuned to a freakish wavelength that picks up distant vibes from an early 70’s era, with its detailing of epic panoramic portraits, Arabesque modes and heady head swirling mantras Earthling Society occupy the same mind re-arranging surreal swirl world that’s commonly acknowledged as being the save haven of the likes of Steve Hillage / Gong and Ozric Tentacles. ‘stations of the ghost’ is if anything a pristine slice of sonic engineering that soars majestically with an intoxicating symphonic svelte-ness and gouges and grinds with a sublime stoner-esque flair that treads upon territories wherein the Grails can be found. The former perfectly exemplified by the sumptuous ear candy curvaceous-ness of the radio friendly ‘the last hurrah’ as it freewheels to an aural artistry that much dovetails the exquisite inventiveness found on the Crimea’s much overlooked ‘secrets of the witching hour’ whilst simultaneously predisposed to a classically focused song craft much informed by Zeppelin and the latter ably traced on the mind blowing set centrepiece ‘night of the scarecrow‘ – a beard bearing beatnik bastard of the highest order that mutates with head caning delight between sludged out stoner oblivion and a spiked spacerockist astral alchemy all the time translating a lost musical language rarely heard on hi-fi’s since a classic era Vertigo / Harvest vintage and detonated with a primitive heavy blues accent owing much to an up for it Blue Cheer.


Elsewhere ‘child of the harvest’ literally terra-forms before your very ears, one minute a trip dipped Barrett like lost white out gem rephrased by a clearly high as kites super chilled Black Sabbath in cahoots with Deep Purple the next morphing into loosely wired jazz juiced gruelling lunar laced goo that sumptuously dips into a big bearded Bill Laswell headed kaleidoscopic vortex leaving the parting ‘Lola Daydream’ to do as it says on the tin and woozily dissipate and dissolve your head space in a swirl of hazily glazed hallucinogenic dream tripped colourised groove‘. All in all the ultimate head phonic trip.


Lozninger ’like a snake’ (mini50). Not for the first time in recent weeks have I had an inkling nay necessity to root through the record collection to reacquaint the listening lobes with priceless wax slab offerings from the likes of Tex La Homa and J Xaverre. forthcoming outing via the small though well formed mini50 imprint of Edinburgh by French musician Lozninger is a case in point for opening salvo ’like a snake’ is despatched with an edgily scratched bubble grooved dynamic that sweetly manages to find safe haven between noise and melody impressed as it is by fragmenting swathes of glassily opining atonal dream driven shoe gazed grooves that effervescently howl like fanfares fanning their simmering psychosis amid swirls of butter kissed purr which fleetingly call to mind Sugar and more pertinently the Harlem Shakes’ Todd Goldstein hiding beneath his Arms persona. Applied with a spectral tenderness ‘the more you lose’ is an altogether different proposition, distant and reflective and caressed by the genteel lull of crystalline pastoral chimes lushly serenaded by the airy swirl of strobe lit omnichord – a heartbreaking gem and something that ought by rights to appeal to lovers of early career King Creosote and fellow Scot imprint Autumn Ferment. As ever its lest to the parting cut to provide the sets best moment courtesy of ’horse in my room’ which features guest vocals by Kirsty Andrews of Reflectiostack fame, traced with a brooding noir tweaked under tread this darkly dream weaving cutie is cut to the distant lazy eyed soft psyche echo of Julie Cruise’s ’falling’ albeit bruised and scarred like a sore stained noses bloodied Damon and Naomi after a spat with the Virgin Passages – just has to be heard. An album entitled ’moving targets’ looms on the horizon.


Dark Captain ‘submarines’ (loaf). Formerly the more expansively named Dark Captain Light Captain, this lot as you shouldn’t need reminding are much loved here, there’s word of a second full length looming on the near distant horizon – ‘dead legs and alibis’ be its name from which ‘submarines’ is pulled to serve as a herald of sorts. Typically unassuming as is the Dark Captain trademark of old, ‘submarines’ is cast in an affectionate bitter sweet hue, forlorn and genteel there’s an almost casual delayed shock attraction in the way the melodies loop, undulate and delicately arrest to the marriage of sweetly gliding harmonies and lushly lulled ached ambience they trace almost reminds us of the shy eyed exquisiteness of Pellumair. That said we have to admit being a tad fond of the flip cut ’bellcurve’ drizzled as it is in the rustic whisper of lazy eyed sea breezed drift winds that evoke images of endless sun glazed pastoral landscapes far out of reach from the noise, clatter and congestion of populace sprawl – quite beguiling and beautified in a chilled and reclining Blue Oyster Cult for the now generation type way.


Lady North / Paws ’split’ (gerry loves). Okay – now I get it – obviously something of a buzzing Edinburgh underground scene underway at present with the aforementioned and reviewed mini50 and song by toad imprints (whose latest batch of releases we mentioned last missive out) along with gerry loves heading up something of a three pronged outlet for new movers and shakers on the underground scene. This release comes pressed upon limited quantities of 7 inch wax (a copy of which we want – downloads are all fine and dandy but we here feel they lose something in the warmth and depth when transmitted digitally and anyway we like to hold and look at things – vinyl and record sleeves before your smutty minds go racing to who knows where). Anyway as said on wax – which features three cuts with a further three coming via an enclosed download coupon. Now there may be a few of you out there who might be of the thinking that math rock – as tasty as it is when done right – has a tendency to be – well shall we say agree to say – somewhat clinical, methodical and angularly insular. Enter stage left Lady North who it seems have broadened the math spectrum with a little tweaking and turning and harnessed something quite sexy. Of course ’its all about gettin that Claude Monet’ is tripped in intricate art grouted time signatures but listen closer and there’s a kind of funk flexed fluency to their artistry that recalls in part the Playwrights albeit diluted with two parts Orange Juice with a Josef K top. Already hotly tipped Lady North translate the whole Battles concrete sound into a pulse paced mutant post punk pout that’s not quite Chic meet Gang of 4 though not far off, stuff like ’rub n’ scrub’ still manages to scowl and snare as it coils within a hybrid caustic calypso grind to which admirers of 23 skidoo and pere ubu may find as equally engaging as fans of xx. All said we’re kind of smitten with ‘acid trips and pussy whips’ which deliriously melds to their agit melodic strain and distant kraut grooved half cousin. Hailing from Glasgow in the main, Paws have to date released a handful of self promoted cassette releases and one 7 inch via Wise Blood Industries all of which we want in our lives right now, ‘lekker’ opens the charge – a pogo punching punk proud slab of in your face three chord tastiness trimmed with an infectious anthem like chorus and pissing Leatherface and Peter and the Test Tube Babies references from its grooves. Up next the sets best moment by far is the damaged and derailed bubble grooved romp ’booger’ which to these ears sounds like a spiked up Teenage Fanclub in a note swapping studio showdown with Gumball and Sugar trading fuzzed and scuffed up power purring glam gouged grinds while pouring over old Db’s and descendants wax slabs of yore while not to be outdone the blister kissed shimmy of the lo-fi teen thrilled ’kitten’ reveals something of a fondness for the Pooh Sticks. More please.


More of this stuff in a second….

Take good care of yourselves……



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