Friday, January 25, 2008

Not guilty yr honour...

Now yr talking...

love it, almost as much as cheeky girl cheesy puffs - just look at all that confectionery on her shoes

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Kassette Kulture # 8 - Non-Horse – Xol Mic

Side one starts with an old style data run flowing through your fingers, splashing on the floor like an inverted brolly graveyard of broken winged fairies. Sounds roasting on the spit plate, sizzling strands travelling between the ears. Séance like shapes n shadows blossom, greedily gobbled back down feedback throats, leaving raspy belches in their wake, gaseous clouds buck shot peppered, tattered and singed. Staring into the vortex leaves you feeling queasy (in a good way) all those half buried sounds curve balling your cranium, as the unholy stink is cauterized by insect-o-cute blue laser zaps and warped Japanese lullabies.

Side two starts off in reverbed and echoed clanks and pulses, the inklings of a tune suffocated in debris and guitar reek. Co-conspirator, Foxy Pink Gloves shoots poison drenched darts of clarinet through the murk, sax-like squeals with flanged tail feathers, excreting ghostly smears. The machines loop over themselves like Escher drawings, fx-ed to fuck, drizzling some crooked gamelan, as monstrous faces creep nearer…somewhere a cattle-prodded monkey is spasm-locked within the circuits. Shit this sound is so blissfully over-crowded, it’s unreal... Then everything cuts away to silence, but just as you think the action is over, a simple looped phantom rasps your ears so faintly the darkness threatens to extinguish it. This grows into some pleasing repetition before the sound is kick started again with a violent gyroscope coughing and spluttering - some mutant techno candy...

The best way to describe the music would be apparitional, a slow machine wrought nightmare you just can’t wake from. The sound effects from some self perpetuated ectoplasmic fall-out, or the simple product of delirium. Its rough edges may not appeal to some, but for me this gritty 80 minute plus improvisation is just the ticket.

Available from Abandon Ship Records

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Emily Breeze, Bela Emerson and Miss Manuk

Femmes Fatales - Friday 18th Jan @ The Cube, Bristol

With just an electric guitar and a stick of bells velcroed to her leg, Miss Manuk took the stage, dishing out some exciting guitar work with vague hints of ‘PJ Harvey’ type phrasing circa ‘Dry’. Tasty rock cords filled with an uneasy tension, her sweet n sour vocals mixing emotions, foreshadowing / underpinning the strings flowing round it. Some really great songs, but the Spanish tinges of one in particular seemed to plant itself firmly in my head, way after the song died away...

Bela was a real pleasure to watch, bouncing her cello fragments between two looping units like a DJ mixing her decks. Adding to the recipe with a gradually built tension which she chopped up real time, causing patterns /shapes/ beats and infinitesimal scrapes to fall over each other and become orphaned, lost in a yummy and incredibly rhythmic jostle. Lots of nervous energy here, as she constantly found new directions to take the sound. Bowed strings became strange ‘bass heavy’ winds, over which she played a lighter refrain – absolutely beautiful stuff.

The musical saw was a nice touch, it’s ghostly warble sliced into a digital stutter; thrown to a bed of whirling ether, never out staying its welcome, but morphing into another entity entirely.

The star of the show was definitely Emily though, having taken on a country slant to her ballsy rock strut since last seeing her back in 2005. A show of two halves, one acoustic led balladry with a psycho-billy accent, the other an evil bass distorted howl and sassy shaped romp, with plenty of that gigantically deep vocal of Miss Breeze’s to savour. Must say, I preferred the second half, with the ‘Blixa’ look-a-like bassist throwing ‘Bad Seeds’ shadows over the stage. Emily chopping the chords out, shouting her head off like it was going outa fashion, the band throwing themselves round and brewing up a dancing throng of bodies in front of the stage – a fantastic atmosphere.

Monday, January 14, 2008

The Book Thief

Can't seem to tear myself away from this current read...

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Tetsuo / Brondie - Love For Debbie 3" CDr

The first track is long and live, sounding like an extreme re-work of Cautious Lip, as if that screaming finale of Debbie Harry's had been gleefully extended distorto stylee. Sonics 'top end' surfing the microphone in unholy screeeech. Under this a mutant Youth Nabbed as Sniper / Art of Noise percussive fusion skates around as Japanese samples are leisurely thrown to the lions – My Love For You Is Like A Claw indeed – simply marvellous stuff from Tetsuo... The remainder of the disc is by a lo-fi Japanese tribute band called Brondie who come across like a phase fx-ed karaoke. Three short(ish) tracks that have a strange ‘heard through a wall’ aesthetic, as if you were listening to a recently unearthed early demo tape. A great subversion of the tribute album available from those lovely people over at At War with False Noise, while stocks last that is...

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Capitaine Present #4 DVDr – El-g

Suitably neon pink and fuzzy, this is the fourth instalment of the ‘Capitaine Present’ series from El-g - A 20mins audio/visual delight sourced from Google. It’s a cut n paste affair of jumbled images, flashing colours/shapes and handwritten scrawl burning a long-lasting acidic after image. Guess I’m missing out on some of the comedy here – wishing my French was better, but without the aid of subs it still manages to leave you in a state of constant amusement or should that be bemusement. I think the bargain here though must be the audio only extras that compile all the previous excursions in the series. A 50+ minute oddball mixture of dialogue and random instrument firings that jangle with your synapses. Loving that ‘Faust’ type of aesthetic that litters each release, those brief song snatches that blend with the more experimental shifts into bizarredom, unexpected diversions, which result in some absolutely ludicrous moments to be treasured. E-lg really seems to be onto a winner here, playfully mixing up all those endless possibilities and giving narrative an arbitrary and accidental life of its own.

Available from Tanzprocesz

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Gay Control Icon Mini CDr - Reverse Mouth

With Little Bodie somebody’s bouncing off a rubber wall, the aftermath a multiple image shaker fizzing gently in the ears, then a high pitched atonal weave of amplifier literally grazes your skull with deep and ugly graffiti. Fashion Blog Whatevah sprays about in scraped guitar filigree, falling over itself in Cageian vice as slow burning shapes dance the tongue in submarinal thuds and lite squalls of latex sucking that gradually sounds like a slaughter of humming birds. The hilariously entitled Go Out w/ Crap in Your Pants is a mouthwash of buzzing filings that drills a singularity into your head, an Amazon bug infestation of metallic wing friction, opening out to some excitable guitar/electronic abuse that too quickly falls into a pinpricked tonal send off. Small but infinitely fully formed, Gay Control Icon rules, wiping away all that Christmas excess.

One For the Diary

@ the Sonic Sanctuary

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

The Seventh Seal - Arklight

The Seventh Seal is a recent CDR release from those prolific NY boys Arklight for Abandon Ship Records. It’s full of grainy overlapping textures and loops that create their own desolate narrative. Guiding your head with guitar and rhythmic fragments corrupted in the cancer of error, almost as if the shadows of humanity were grafted to the steel like super-eight projections – flickering and jumping in imperfection.

Antonius Block sounds like chain mail dancing on skin, which is kinda appropriate given the song’s title – Morse crabs clawing at sheet-metal groins. Rickety insect legs across a tin-foiled beach in constricted almost awkward pulses. Electro ‘tiddly winks’ with guitar pick-ups, bouncy haemoglobin congealing in a zrrring whirl of solder.

Scratching The Water is a preset downtrodden tempo over wayward industry; abstractive voices pissing out retinal debris, groping towards song or Arabic tower top refrain. Reversed itchy illumination through texture as empty coat hangers wilt in window boxes.

Skin Cancer Blues, creeps over you like an infection wrapped up in an apparition of squeezebox with a lite cymbal kiss n graze. A loose natured attrition that discolours the skin in whispered incantation and vibrating strings.

Ballad of Narayama – a lovely drone warble with folksy loop topping – battery-shot keyboard wheezing over broken glass aspirations – flashes or fluttering wings of beats – chopped body shop eddies of double time making everything edgy. An alphabet soup of cybernetic parts clanging against the spoon.

A Green Blimp... a boxing match in a grain silo. A hobo moans away in the corner shuffling playing cards of stiff leather, or cranking the mechanism of a child’s counting toy caught in a state of constant de-ja-vu. Strange nodding heads inflate, bloated smiles bobbing to the greasy rhythm, oil pours from their mumbling orifices, as fist or foot crashes them back down.

What you Might Destroy... swirling feedback elegy eaten in a desert mirage of locusts or twirling lotus petals sucked into the flex of a mirror – opening apertures, churning rays forced down a narrow junction - The ghosts of apparatus circling in discord as plucked strings mix with the shadows.

What this all has to do with the Bergmann film is anybodies guess, but it has to be said, watching it with this as a soundtrack certainly brings new light to cinematic genius...