Monthly Archives: October 2009

last days of radio (laurie what’s the boogeyman?)

i met him fifteen years ago. i was told there was nothing left, no conscience, no reason, no understanding, in even the most rudimentary sense, of life or death or right or wrong. i met this six-year-old boy with a blank, cold emotionless face and the blackest of eyes, the devil’s eyes. i spent eight years trying to reach [...]

little claw: human taste (ecstatic peace / not not fun)

earlier in the year i said this about the race to the bottom seven incher: with a sleeve that looks like it was designed by me drunk at four in the morning with a head full of medicine and my hands celltotaped to a broken felt tip pen. two tracks with the overdriven guitar sound [...]

shit and shine: 229-2299 girls against shit (wet dream #16)

lickitlickitlickitlicklicklick tongue like cat tongue like cow tongue jarring fuzzy needles on skin round lobes, dripping wet wet wet monstrous salival and groans of damp wood exposed to brutal sun. fingerfingerfingers trace of lucid gulfs moistened folds cartilage hinges bending this way and that way break opening up expectorating exposing fleshy flesh and bits of [...]

factums: flowers (sacred bones)

all material has history. so said painter, sculptor, photographer, performer, art prankster robert rauschenberg. fitting for this random word spew for two reasons. one: his (re)construction of collage.  two: he painted simultaneously pieces titled factum i and ii.  factums.  see?  possibly.  anyway his use of collage, incorporating found things, trash, newspapers, glories in the disparity [...]

pelican: what we all come to need (southern lord) vs. isis: wavering radiant (ipecac)

   philosophically i hate the genre enthusiast. generally a bunchof taste nazis. see metal is what i grew up on, up with and (scene-wise) away from. reason being, as a pup, the willful cuntishness of yr reactionary fan on the street sometimes made me wish i’d never borrowed number of the beast or paranoid or [...]

gary war: horribles parade (sacred bones) vs. wet hair: glass fountain (not not fun)

is there a weirdo factory in the yoo ess somewhere churning out deranged, whacked out pop bands? if you play these records backwards will you hear the sonic shite of sgt peppers playing forwards? don’t do it kids. john is dead… john is dead… and thank funk for that. and is not not fun actually [...]

the bucky rage, the jackhammers, king khan, the almighty defenders, jack of heart and demon’s claws…

this week saw the newly redesigned bucky rage return to stage, lean and muscled like a young jean claude van damme.  back to being a quadruped.  but with keys and pedal noise in place of six strings. so you get the same old fashioned masked madness you know and love, just with extra 13th floor [...]

max tundra: the garage: glasgow

max tundra forever holds a place in my dark little heart after his appearance at supersonic two years ago when he irritated a buncha hardcore dudes by daring to play big fucking pop music at an experimental music fest.  i said this at the time:  frenetic light through murk and the alphabetised joy of a bedroom timberlake. [...]

moon duo: killing time (sacred bones)

oh we can’t stand all of your modern music oh we feel afflicted.  so said yr man from black mountain.  which pretty much sums up this four track vinyl treat which sounds like it was recorded forty years ago.  everything about it screams vintage and analogue.  and after the billy bao / mattin / drunkdriver [...]

the flaming lips: embryonic (warner bros.)

jesus and doc brown as haphazard hairy shaman, leads us not into temptation, but delivers us from evil.  in a giant man-sized hamster ball. somewhere between religion and science, as much studio as instrument, as much sky as earth. embryonic is another musical paradigm shift from the lips, a steady transmogrification; referencing everything from miles [...]

billy bao: may 08 (parts unknown) / drunkdriver & mattin: list of profound insecurities (badmaster)

not enough ugly in yr life?  hankering for some misanthropic abuse?  well be prepared to wipe the foamflecked bile from yr diseased faces coz there’s a double dose of mattin heading your way like derby crash’s gnarled death dick. billy bao is not real.  doesn’t matter.  provocative or provocateur?  doesn’t matter.  it’s conceptual see.  a [...]

kurt vile: childish prodigy (matador)

always felt that kurt vile was rather unfairly connotationally lumbered with the same tags as yr times new vikings and eat skulls and all that noised up siltbreeze lot when, as has become increasingly obvious, his music’s got a distinctly westerberg (on overnight religion particularly) or van zandt bent.  or when the violators are involved [...]

jack rose & the black twig pickers: s/t (beautiful happiness/klang)

alrighty, lets see if can get through this without resorting to the bog-standard hootin’ an’ a hollerin’ hard drinkin’ foot-stompin’ old fashioned yee-haw hoedown clichés or yawning on about dusty western vistas that writerly types resort to when spunking out words on this kindof thing.  i’m using every last ‘g’ motherlovers and i don’t give [...]

moodring: scared of ferret / remora: derivative / slicnaton: basendrums (silber records)

strange how random threads stretch out across time and continents.  got an email from this rather fetching label (comics and epic noise you say? my kinda place) and during my columbo-esque investigation realised i already owned one of their records.  the alan sparhawk album since you ask.  which somehow made it’s way to avalanche records, [...]

last days of radio (noise not music)

  these ten songs.  these ten songs are all perfect tumours and broken-teeth smiles and drunkdrunk women in shortshort skirts.  they’re like getting ripped and taking off all your clothes and running running running; listening, it’s cracking an egg and finding a chicken fetus.  it’s blood and vomit and spunk and piss and shit.  it’s [...]

last tide: the broken places

got a bit of writerly block today so i’ll open with a joke. how do you find will smith in the snow? just follow the fresh prints… sorry.  come back. it’s this damned sobriety, this vicious ocular ulcer, the grey grind of existence.  it’s getting to me.  and whilst the posts of recent yore have [...]

holy mountain: ep / plaaydoh: lp (winning sperm party)

when i saw holy mountain ages ago i said this: like if lightning bolt and dylan carsons’ earth of old and sleep and iron monkey (oh how i miss you…) made sweaty ugly brutish fuck and nine ungodly months later squatted out a two man band of hair and tattoos and drums and guitar andandand [...]

the radiation line: ep4

i could continue this weeks pseudo philosophic literary music theme by making reference to michael moorcock who had a ship in a book called how the clouds have meaning, who hung with the original crazy druid noise bastards hawkwind.  a band who’s shadow in turn hangs over the radiation line. i could mention aleister crowley [...]

stray ghost: an avalanche of swollen tongues (dead pilot)

being in darkness and confusion is interesting to me.  but behind it you can rise out of that and see things the way the really are.  that there is some sort of truth to the whole thing, if you could just get to that point where you could see it, and live it, and feel [...]

bleeding heart narrative: tongue tangled hair (tartaruga)

there are some things in life you have to work at.  gravity’s rainbow took me the best part of a decade to tame.  something i’m not ashamed to admit.  a week of unholy monkish concentration in france just to break the beasts back.  but break it i did.  still none the wiser to some of [...]

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