present at the terminal ….

We’ll be back with this before the weeks out I promise. Kicking myself all the same, that we’re a little late to the party on this having missed out the strictly limited cassette pressing and all this despite a lovely message from Dollboy earlier in the year – as I recall – given us a heads up on his ‘rites and rituals’ outing on the same label. That said missing out on the sticker was the most crushing blow. Mentions for this – the Dollboy release and not the sticker – will hopefully appear sometime next week. Anyhow for now, we just want to serve notice so to speak, on two of the sets essential guests. First up, the Heartwood Institute, a note from Jonathon following ion from our mention of the Dandelion Session release through Reverb Worship that he’s currently afoot with recordings for his new album the fruits of which will at some point appear via the hugely admired polytechnic youth imprint.  With its wonderfully carved pastoral pageantry and heraldic pressing there’s a nostalgic romanticism in the old ways steeled upon ‘Sunbiggin Tarn’, its airy floral dance charmed wistfully and mourned with the ghosts of an England long since lost. There’s scarcely enough coughing, weeping and wailing on releases these days, a fact that irks us to the point of sleepless nights, likewise the absence of whistling, nose flutes, yelping and the lighting of cigarettes all of which – the latter four mentioned that is – sadly don’t appear here. I refer of course to the opening salvo by Teresa Winter entitled ‘a wedge shaped core of darkness’ which I must admit had me squarely back in my former and far younger state watching numerous films and stage plays of the Scottish play whilst studying it for some GCE level or such thing which now looking back in latter life served absolutely no point in navigating life’s long and arduous road. I digress. I of course refer to the scene with the three witches upon which this particular track seemingly mirrors, its darkly chilling passing a wonderfully shadowy gothique ceremonial steeped, stirred and supernaturalised in the finest tradition of Brit folk horror. Easily filed alongside your prized the Hare and the Moon and Preterite pressings I would have thought.

Posted in groovy bastards..., Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

sir robert orange peel

I suspect or more so, fear that we may have un-wittingly opened the terrace gates in mentioning football songs. Recommended by Brian Bordello, this is Sir Robert Orange Peel with ‘put a bag over your head’ – an impish side swipe at the national squad just out through metal postcard, who at one time in the long distant past used to send us records for review. Not any more though, mind you to be fair we have moved around a few times since those days. Did we mention we’d moved recently? Anyhow chiming perfectly with our sentiments does this, so incensed by the defeat to Iceland and fed up with reading om a daily basis the antics of spoilt sportsmen, sportsmen sorry did I mistakenly give them more credit than they deserved, children would be more appropriate, that we vowed to abstain from watching internationals and all premier action the following season, instead opting to watch the championship. Well for one it’s more exciting, more cut throat and above all the players want to play, alas the end game being they get signed to a premier team only to be welcomed into the idiot club. That said, everything I harped about in the Reverse Family review – see above somewhere – still stands, I’ve faith in the manager and the squad, the only needle point being the goalkeepers. And no i don’t think they’ll win it, quarter finals is the best shot and with that i’d be satisfied. Sir Robert Orange Peel on the other hand is a less forgiving soul, to this point I don’t blame him, not since Hoddle and Venables has the national team looked vaguely convincing and with that I’ll leave matters – I’ll only start kicking things. Anyway as to the sounds, a chirpy dancey / tech sortie happily parping in the background over which gloom descends in the guise of cold light of day realism, at lest it’s better than that naff rap crap by New Order and the tedious Three Lions though not quite up with the Colourbox, can’t have everything he grumbles as he crosses everything for the forthcoming football traumas.      


Posted in groovy bastards..., Uncategorized | Tagged , | Leave a comment


absolutely smitten with this, the latest salvo from Gulp, a track culled from their eagerly awaited new full length ‘all good wishes’ due for arresting in early August through ELK. This be ‘I dream of your song’ – a 60’s tinged ghost light seductively smoked in the kind of silken sun toned shimmering which aside providing for what is, quintessentially ripe listening for these sultry evenings bathed beneath the glow of sun fried skies, also deviously managed to link the invisible dots between Lake Ruth and a youthful Soundcarriers. Any questions then…..

Posted in groovy bastards... | Tagged , | Leave a comment

great pagans

Some releases just write their own reviews don’t you find? Case in point this next ‘un, under the skin at first listen, I mean how can you resist its crestfallen bruising as it reflectively withdraws out of the light, this is the latest from Great Pagans through the Brighton based Anti Ghost Moon Ray imprint, a crushing sonic spectacle by the name ‘Renaissance’ whose irresistible tugging of the heartstrings sways and swoons with purring precision slow gliding with the kind of quietly epic grandeur that once arrested platters by Slowdive whilst simultaneously possessed of the church like dream dazed chiming corteges that used to adore the releases of Chapterhouse.

Posted in groovy bastards..., Uncategorized | Tagged , | Leave a comment

reverse family

World Cup songs, what’s the general consensus. Me personally, I hate them with a passion, three lions, that New Order tosh and that’s before we even scratch a little deeper and go all Waddle and Hoddle on you. Hard as it is to imagine but they’ve often proved more embarrassing than the national team we put up every few years and entrust with the nations hopes, the payback being that an early doors exit is always on cards and that your gut feeling, another chalk up for the Germans, ends up taking the prize while the Football Association shuffle to fumble some vague excuse as to a work in progress. A fifty-year work in progress not ‘arf but what do you expect from a country that excels at mediocrity and no we won’t mention Brexit, what a cock up that’s proving to be. All said, I’m quite buoyant about this year’s world cup, I’ve accepted we won’t win it, I’ve faith in the manager and the squad, the goalkeeper situation irks me a bit but hey ho if the ten in front of him do what they are meant to do, he should have a relatively easy run. Quarter Finals and I’ll be happy. So why am I wittering about the World Cup, only that Andy from the Reverse Family has been in touch with details of a video showcasing a forthcoming download only single, a kittle World Cup baiting that’s what we need in our life right now and to stuff it is. The animated video pretty much portraying everything you need to know about Leeds United in the early 70’s – I swear we spotted Giles and Hunter in there. The sounds, well as some wit once said, it’s a game of two halves in so far as yes, disappointingly it’s a football song, but secondly and more importantly, it’s a good ‘un, for ‘we are the team’ is wonderfully scuzzy, no kid pop sing-a-longs here, just pure unadulterated post punk edginess birthed of a parentage of Public Image LTD and Magazine types all soldered to an austere blank generation spiky sparseness that’s both wirily chilled and somewhat gouged in a superbly subliminal acuteness.

Posted in groovy bastards..., Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

spider jazz

Been an age since we featured anything from the esteemed Trunk imprint, however spotted this on a recent jaunt to Probe records. Mind you pricey and all this following a spot of haggling over the latest Ace double ‘Bob Stanley & Pete Wiggs Present Paris In the Spring’ – over 30 notes, you kidding? So, there I am fresh from failed haggling yet not even blinking an eye when I spot this for the merest of spondoolies less. Not only is it a single disc but a single disc pressed on eye catching spidery blue and red webby coloured vinyl. Oh yea, there is your standard far cheaper black vinyl version, still a single disc mind, With all sense of reason and mind completely askew, you might well ask at this juncture, so why the grumpiness over the Ace double disc and the wilful extravagance of something on coloured vinyl. Well it’s goes simply like this, it’s a curio, a very special curio that forms a lost link to a forgotten childhood watching an animation series featuring an iconic web crawling comic hero, for this disc features the musical cues from the second season onwards, the master tapes from the first one being thought lost. Described as spy / detective jazz, the library recordings were sourced from rare KPM platters, the idea being to keep costs to a minimum, among the attractions, sounds by Syd Dale, Johnny Hawksworth, Bill Martin, Phil Coulter, Alan Hawkshaw and David Lindup (whose mooching ‘juggernaut’ is pure jazz noir while his ‘sixth sense’ is steeled with an air of Barry’s more spacier sonic plots for the Bond franchise) backdropped the action as our favourite web crawler battled a gathering of ne’er do well folk and various newspaper tyrants. As to the sounds themselves, it wasn’t always the good fighting the good and the bad, well – being bad, the animation series was littered in humorous asides a point perfectly mirrored by the kooky ‘Mr Chesterton’s Dog’ by Bill Martin and Phil Coulter and the frantically wiggy surf – a – delic hipster ‘the eyelash’ by Hawksworth. Somewhere else and perfectly courting that seedily shadow like underside of the night fallen metropolitan mean streets, Syd Dale’s ‘the hell raisers’ commences the action, an uber cool smoking slice of boogie succinctly nailing to the floor that sense of heady edge of anticipation and sleaze n’ seedy hiding around every corner in the shadows. Add to this there’s Dale’s menacing fuzz freak ‘walk in a nightmare’ while equally tasty is the shoe shuffling saunter of ‘walk and talk’ which by these ears, could have easily have fallen off the soundtrack for ‘Dr No’. fancy a little something slightly off register and devilishly darkly noir with an edgy and brooding psych touching, then we suggest you flick the stylus over Martin and Coulter’s ominously hallucinogenic ‘LSD’ though not before stopping by for a spell at both Mansfield’s ‘funky flight’ and Hawkshaw’s ‘raver’ – the former like it says on the tin lid a slinky slice of fringe flopping funkiness, the latter a liberal shot of snaking lounge jazz. Essential.

background story to the release and other such gubbins – here –      

VA -

Posted in groovy bastards..., Uncategorized | Tagged , | Leave a comment


Sorry but before you ask there are sadly no sound links on this one just yet. Proud as punch to be given a sneak listen of this, a two tracker still in its demo stage that’s being prepped for limited issue at the forthcoming Fruits de Mer ‘16th dream of Dr. Sardonicus’ festivities Featuring two cover versions of noted Goth classicism, Pete Sendelica in one of his many alter ego’s sets to work exhuming both Sisters of Mercy’s ‘temple of love’ and Bauhaus’ epic ‘Bela Lugosi’s dead’. It’s the latter that we stray first, in any well-ordered regime, having the temerity to cover a Bauhaus track might be seen by many as foolhardy at the very least a treacherous tightrope walk certain of disaster for Murphy and Co at the height of their powers where alone, no comparison and operating in a sonic universe created and inhabited by them and for them alone. Upping the chill factor a notch or two and applied with an unravelling psychotronic gouging, there’s a post punk frenzy rising here that literally rears to choke it in a glooming claustrophobic straightjacket. As to their cover of Sisters of Mercy’s ‘temple of love’, always a favourite in our gaff, the ’84 original as opposed to the rather more inferior Ofra version from the 90’s, there’s something coolly predatory afoot here. Slowed to the feintest of pulses there’s a close intimacy stirring here whose swathing intoxicating haze purrs intensely with a distractive lust like rubbing. Easily filed alongside your prized m1nk sounds.

Posted in groovy bastards..., Uncategorized | Tagged , | Leave a comment