been a bit of a slooow week musically. not been playing much new apart from this jammy bugger. not really much else has tweaked my cat-killing nipple of curiosity, flicked my searching sac of inquisitiveness. took lots of pictures though…. you moaning fux.
anyways. this’ll be short and sweet. like strega. or hervé villechaize. or milk and cheese. or minutemen songs. and (un)like boon, watt, hurley they don’t so much jam econo (aesthetically speaking anyway) as jam liberallo. sorry…
thirty three minutes of drawn out drone shapes and metal scraping seance soundtracks. lots of jazz noir squeals and looping groans on here. at times reminding me of wolf eyes in cashmere cardigans. and i guess what i love about this kindof thing is the mad alchemy that goes with it. the idea of chucking a buncha stuff into a four track and making a big aural stew.
a defo charalambides whiff (though to be fair i’ve not heard mcmillens work with warmer milks et al) on the first side. all hypno- dark and nightmare bliss freakery. something decidedly atonal orchestral going on. picked up the brothers quay bfi short films boxset at christmas. this would score rather nicely over their animated cacaphony. being all anonymized and shit i have no idea who plays what if anything. at a guess there’s a churn of samples and a billowing of live string buggery and maybe tapes and reels and christ knows what else being hideously molested in front of ogling phonic perverts.
second side gets into their threedee percussive creep. all electro pulse and random handclappery. somehow comes across sci-fi ominously. more filmic vibe here. in fact there’s a looped reel of jerry goldsmith’s sweaty panic on the alien soundtrack playing repeato in my skull. doesn’t so much shimmer as glower, doesn’t so much wash as scrape like broken metal on rusted aluminium (does aluminium rust?). isn’t so much psyche as frazzled, isn’t so much organic as elektric. layered, in a decidedly industrial (yet fragile way). like a factory that machine-makes glass sculptures. or a forest full of broken radio receivers.
eitherways for four guys playing live this sounds bloody huge. sprawling yet (indecently) compact. a mangled chairoscuro of narco-orchestrated schmears. strangely pleasant; a bit like being felt up by walkabout jenny agutter ensconced in brillo-pads. or listening to nurse with wound whilst goggling spongebobs aquatic antics. it’s fun isn’t it? isn’t it?
a trip to our rainy shores would be hugely appreciated by this pinot-stained fella. come stay at my gaff. i’ll feed you cheese and zoviet france till you scarper afeart, off to bristol or somewhere. and thisis apparently three years old. what the fuck have yooz been doing since thence fellas? as busta says, gimme some more.
