right.  this shite’s going to be boringly linear i’m afraid (yet all over the goddam place).

first up were towering breaker.  i liked the tape destruction and reeltoreel abuse, i liked the use of walkman and tables spaghettied with wires and boxes, i liked the skaters style fug and klang of metal.  yr chocolate monk man dylan nyoukis seems to love them (which is good enough for me).  i was a bit distracted by a) the zonked yodeling (only hank williams gets away with this shit in my book) and b) the dudes goofy way with a xylophone.  so good it seemed a bit like paul mccarthy’s painter reimagined by zoviet france.  or the chuckle brothers musically directed by david lynch.  not in the pejorative you understand.

next, the hunter gracchus.  sacred object of the yiye people is a pretty ace album.  it’s jammy (not the preserve kind) and percussivey and noisy in a way that for a wee change doesn’t sound like it’s being made feeding old zx spectrums through an industrial shredder.  it’s all organic and real and proper sounding, like it was made on strings and wood and skin (which it probably was).  a bit balkan, or a bit araby, a bit psychey, a bit noisy.  i can’t decide.  anyway there’s smidgens of jazz and a kindof fucked folk and (not enough of) the aforementioned world shit going on.  the set had some awesome shruti box action going on, and if i closed my eyes and overmedicated myself it could almost be like some weird alien voiced semifolkish version of the pop group shit going down.  or that particular brand of finnish free jazzy pastoral shenanigans that occasionally rubs me the wrong way with all the childish bashing and petulant percussion and larking about in pyjamas and elf hats and squawking andandand…  but in a good way y’understand.

following a long break (well a two trip to the bar break) came jazzfinger.  you know, the old semi industrial minimalist created drone, composed of bits of old amplified stuff they’d found and cheap junkshop instruments they’d plugged in.  the sludgy unrock and lofi nofi subsonic hiss of randomly klanged things.  the skullflower ashtray navigations clatter of fuckhorn and elektronic whatevers heard underground in subteranean carparks and old factory hell-cellars.  mostly i was looking forward to this.  thankfully not disappointed.  sounded like everything was broken in the best way possible.  noisenoisenoise and toxic hiss and junkisized vocals all delightfully mangled.  mogadon slow and should have been fog shrouded or drenched in ominous swaddling lightfreakery (but wasn’t).  essentially they were doing some kindof tectonic string abuse, not that i could see coz they rather rudely had backs to audience.  full of creaks and skreaks and sklatches of wire and steel and bow, all murky scrapes of unviolin and slowly stabbed guitar.  the aural equivalent of r kellys i believe i can fly destroyed note by note then fed through aleister crowley’s dead ass.  yup.  that fucking good.  love the birds of delay split and low level cloud fucker gets played, like, you know, a lot.  more please.

and finally blood stereo.  the mr and mrs style carpenters of noise ensemble.  seemed to consist mainly of rejiggered recordings of yr mans bodily functions.  lots of glottal throatal sibilant burpings and groanings and exorcismic vocalisations fed through various things.  which was a bit fun and a bit funny but i dunno…  just didn’t quite click with me tonight. sorry.  still t’was good just didn’t seem to tickle my noise bones as much as i’d have liked.  probably this damnable heat, the four hour hike in callander, the dodgy risotto…

anyway cheers psykick dancehall!