how many arms he got?
thrashing flailing octopus
a blur of banging
strings plucked by hirsute
hopping-on-one-leg fella
together make magic

everytime i see chris corsano he fills me with this almost sexual, unbearable urge to hit as many things as possible as many times as i can with whatever’s to hand.  he is a bursting rhythmic beast.  a multi-limbed gigapercussionist.  it’s madness.  christ knows how he does it, particularly when hitting two drums at the same time with one stick, using his elbow to bash shit, and tossing around bowls and rags and rattling skins with his other hand.  and maybe blowing into some electric recorder thing to boot.  the hendrix of drums.  and if he decided one fine day to set his kit ablaze and play through fiery death flames well i’d stand back in my usual jawdropped flabbergastery and applaud his eventually charred corpse.  oh yeah and mick flower was there too.  always seems to overshadow whoever he’s playing with that selfish bastard corsano.  which is a bit of a shame considering flower’s way with an amplified drone eastern twang thang on that japanese dulcimer thing he lugs about attached to a sawed-off ironing board.  together anyway they made sweet beautiful musical man love (flower the catcher to corsano’s pitcher).  outstanding.

from glass cow scot lin
too many things on stage at once
swishing and swirling
eight guitars gently
strummed and little things tinkled
more force required please

second time i’ve seen remember remember‘s motley crue of polite scotsfolk.  always seems to be a tonne of shit going on at the same time, all oniony layers of post-something krauty changs and doops and chugs, but not much sound coming out.  i want them to be louder.  maybe coz my hearing’s fucked reducing everything below a hundred decibels to a curteous murmur.  so turn it up next time buggers and maybe i’ll whoop insteada just clapping.

it starts off quiet
and gets bigger and bigger
louder and louder
then buzz fuzz and vroom
explosions of giddy psyche
and then you relax

absolutely nothing new here but thought forms are an absolute bloody treat for the ears anyway.  ploughing a similar post-whatevah furrow to mogwai (but without the lektronix), explosions in the sky (but less post more rock) and mono (all the sabbath bits not the symphonic stomp).  two guitars and a drum and an array of militant pedals waiting to burst ear drums in the same aural way as boiling a frog.  turn the volume/tension/heat up little by little and you don’t realize the huge swathes of psychedelic fury suddenly frighteningly wrapping violently and erotically round yr scrawny frame until you burst like a meat filled balloon.

blacker than blackest
viscious viscous violence
ugly and brutish
swallowed by noise void
then shat out with vehemence
i felt sore after

should have known by the at war with false noise tee that i wasn’t getting the psyched out repeato stoner skullflower but the cuntjuddering racket of black metal skullflower.  making a din somewhere between guantanamo torture static and an ocean liner sinking.  everything obsidian black.  my brain hurts.  flash flash of photography and it’s a bit like the blitz.  hideous and evilbut in the best possible way.  the musical equivalent of staring at a hieronymus bosch for a bit too long.  one to be physically experienced rather than listened to.

lusty and trashy
looks like she enjoys a smoke
and drink or twothree
indulges tapping
of fingers on fret like van
halen (not mor’son)

yeah yeah yeah.  bit of a cheat in the last line on that one.  fuck you.  i’m s’posed to be working.  i just wanna take marnie stern home and feed her soup and beer.  i do.  easily the most straightforward shit on show this weekend.  no frills rock with all kinds of six string shenenigans from the shredmeister.  there were chords and tunes and singing and proper words and everything.  confused the heck out of sternfaced obscure t-shirt wearers.  what is this thing you call mel-oh-day?  a giddy delight.

tiny lady makes
fearsome noise with toaty lungs
all sensation lost
the hammer of doom
wantonly crushes us all
to slo-mo headbang

the crime fighting duo of o’malley and anderson return to avenge the death of their daughter at the hands of viscious drug scum.  or something.  nah it’s thorr’s hammer with more of their pulverizing ultrachug to soundtrack the end of days.  this time with a ten year old norwegian girl channeling the exorcists pazuzu, vomiting a frighteningly deep rumble of aural filth through a microphone and direct into our inexorably nodding skulls.  by rights she should look a bit like the unholy union of grizzly adams and jon pall sigmarsson and cronos from venom.  instead she’s an elfin beauty.  what the huh?  in between songs the two hairy fellas (and drummer) prick the preposterous bubble by bellowing bolt thrower into the mic and throwing some righteous satanic sign of the horns metal hand gestures.  awesome, stupid, frightening, crushing doom.  beautiful.

spazz tooting freakout
like dancing to calculus
with punk rock john nash
god shaking a room
filled with amped up instruments
mad jazz maraca

exactly what i said up there.  bonkers yet utterly listenable.  too complicated for my brain to follow, but my feet?  my feet tapped like a motherfucker.  if motherfuckers tap.  in a crazed syncopation.  zu are like if bohren und der club of gore took a tony montano load of c-c-c-c-c-cocaine and went to heavy metal town.