Saturday, May 23, 2009

Team Brick's Wrong Weekend - Noise Night

Menschenfleisch, Rajinder, Cementimental vs BBBlood, Kylie Minoise, Team Brick at the Croft Bristol Fri 22nd May





Menschenfleisch were first up and haemorrhaged seriously darkened noisettes, spasms of electronic surge and sustain… bludgeoning the senses, silhouettes of clanking mantelpieces filled with buckled shapes and numb trajectories, skull kommandos of grainy geometrics and a good deal of yelling… bleach washed… fistfights of chimps, carving out corridors of bloated pornographies… Greg’s set-up was causing him problems, but this failed to blight the performance…









Rajinder started with a deep drum and guitar refrain, the beat giving out solid militia shivers, the guitar creeping around it apologetically…settling down into a satisfyingly thrashed coda, then, out of nowhere, he suddenly jettisoned his guitar to the floor and switched tactics… Spiking it into the amp, he reverted to tinkering with the fedback results. Interspersed with vocals… effect crystals hissing out rack stretched angel feathers, frequencies rippling… just as Rajinder was about to barrage bomb the place in meaty slaughter, the waves just seemed to crumble away and dip out of sustain in slowly muted gargles. …Sighing, he quickly reverted to playing guitar with the drum sticks, chopping it up into no waver bleeds, deep creases curling round it’s echoes and top-end string chimes, all semi-abstract riffery and rolling thunder… really liked this section…



The finale was a shoe-gazer string scrub, grated out over phantoms of fm static …I could hear spidery dialogue being forced through sonic fingers, just as I did that snowy February…



Cementimental vs BBBlood were a primal power electronics showdown, textural swamp of pierced squelch and bassy thud, the walls shaking… think they even dislodged a dodgy filling in the process… Crunchy mouthed, I was revelling in those drowned casio slabs and gnawed whatevers… arms, twisting the commotion in tasty cross hatches and perverse squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelk zzzxt uik jikeeel krystallised sickness.







The place was pitch black for Kylie Minoise’s set, two torches wrapped round his hands, his lower face covered bandit style, naked torso…
I was surprised by his minimal kit, especially compared to the other acts’ spaghetti ridden tables, just a couple of hand-held contacts, some sort of tone generator and a single effects pedal, all gaffer taped to the tables he was standing on… but boy he carved out a menacing atmosphere.
The torch lights reacted to the frequency squall, becoming wobbling eyes, or arching streams of motion mimicking the sounds, stray lights caught glimpses of flesh in motion, tortured poses, mind etched in the semi-darkness…

This was super concentrated, a deprivation tank intensity of swarming hornets, shadowed torso writhing around, silhouetted by flung torchlight. Crawling the floor, a scraping noise to spasmed body…broken by occasional cup handed screams …reminded me of Sudden Infant’s antics as sound was transformed into physical theatre. For the finale, it was a back crawl out of the door, only the flashing lights left to play with the audience’s faces in the gloom…fucking brilliant!






Team Brick started with some beautiful bassoon (I’m a bit rusty on my classical instruments), breeding on the demise in exuberant serifs… the drifts looped, and sucked into themselves, quickly falling into a vocal display of chopped up effects… chanted perspectives turned into heavy bomber drone and spitting debris and yell… then flipped into mind mandalas, all angular with sibilant fag end smouldering …a triptych of microphones, each transforming his vox in differing ways…the Kraftwerk vo-corded combings, merging nicely across the spreading Gnostic hum… The raped cymbal giving out muted cries, then abandoned… for screaming rant, and noise accumulation bowing out on Latin scriptings… if I wasn’t so skint I would have bought his album…

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Silvester Anfang – Levend Op De Brandstapel CDr

Silvester Anfang – Levend Op De Brandstapel

Recorded live to tape with one crappy microphone (it says so on the back) this one tracker starts with firecracker drums and over-wrought guitar squeals… a smidgen of laughter from the stalls… but you know you're on to a winner, when those Hendrix noodles begin to wade through the Dali-esque bass, all fried egg whiteness n greasy glisten… a light smattering of vox grazes itself on the limited sound canvas, transformed occasionally into hi-end jet streams, as if straight from Hades arse. In amongst all that concussion and crooked cymbal kiss, the Amon Duul jam certainly bleeds out a satisfying riffology, curling toes and nodding heads as cross-cut shapes whirl around the stickiness and voices are spun between the momentum grown tangles…

Suddenly it starts to fade back…and you're going nooooooo! Then at the 20min mark everything is quickly resurrected in screeching un-holiness, a sound akin to being torn asunder by owls…The anti, seriously upped, with abyss knives clattering at the apex and squealing gasses escaping on heralding horns… a looped nightmare of tech-vomit and phaser scrub… cut off in it’s prime… I’m looking back at that mushroomed apocalypse of the cover that suckered me in… thinking these boys have done it proud…

Monday, May 18, 2009

Kassette Kulture #21 - Queen Elephantine - Kailash



This is a fuzzy muscle play of distorted dirge and Hindu atmospherics that easily embodies the slow majesty of bands like Earth, or to a lesser extent, Mono … but this is a rawer, far heavier brew, buckling the confines of the medium, so over-saturated that it almost struggles for definition. The instruments take on a scary dynamic, like a vibrating cloud of flies, distorted in the heat. It’s hard to avoid the magnetic pull of that turbine shackled hertz, or that accompanying tinsel soak from the cymbals, even the words seem to be dragging you through the dusty soil on mystic hooks.

Something about skyscrapers blocking the sun, rivers of glass and footless aspirations to heaven…. drowsy words in the stoner buzz, as stray limbs scar the surface, delectable dislocations matching that beautiful murkiness of the cover art… but it really excels when everything is systematically pummelled, or when the vocal goes off on a devotional pilgrimage, and becomes a rich gravy of moan and clattering commune, coaxed into serpent shadows or stuffed into jackal skins… then it truly gets your appetite racing…

You’d think this sort of transcendence couldn’t be sustained, until the second side bursts forward in explosive field recording, slipping easily into a menacing procession of wounded bass and drum kissed desertion … some lovely re-bounded chords are happened upon and stuck with, blooms alighting from the carcass, amp transformed into a deformed offspring slowly swallowed down stream – textural eye openers that chaff the inside of your skull in a sloth ache psych and trance-eaten sway, repetitive breathe spun.

The tape cools off for the final two tracks in raga blisters, melodious wafers of drum, curling chants and sitar… peeling away the gloom in falling dew and hand spanned illumination.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Saturday, May 09, 2009

Wednesday, May 06, 2009

Thought Forms album launch including the Skaters and PARA

Monday 4th May @ The Louisiana, Bristol

My head was quite shell-shocked due to jet-lag, having just got back from New York that morning... feeling seriously floaty it was a pleasure for PARA to take my glycaemic phantoms and make sinister hand shadows with them… her ritualistic throat violence, a shivering and hungry vox preying on my astral other in witchy wails, everything coated in this curious antique vibe, like a dusty 78 spinning out from another galaxy…







The Skaters did two solo shows instead of an expected duo show of force… Spencer Clark played around with his collection of Casio slabs… creating a hefty preset Congo shuffle that drummed out the tempo, while a keyboard overlay poly-filled the cavities in jaunty secondaries, reminiscent of bag-pipes, or was it more Moroccan spice? Full of toe tapping and body shaking goodness.

Next up James Ferraro produced a caustic sauce of skipping textures, riddled with scraped intersections , early Tangerine Dream tangles and more undefined magicks, the overlays creating screams of gargoyles and arcane languages, forcing you through lush and colourful explorations… so additive, I completely forgot to take any pics…

Thought Forms were tremendous, the best they’ve ever been, literally exploding in vivid rainbows, the pristine sound collapsing into the ears in ever evolving shapes and textures, leaving you in a serotonin induced trance…





Album tracks were duly messed around with, as swirling circuits were etched on the back of solid riffery… that creamy delay of Deej’s vox on Nothing is as Easy as you think was simply gorgeous, then a new song broke the ranks in curved arabesques and lush vocal blooms…







Just as you thought all the treats were spent, Team Brick joined them on stage, all shouty and raped cymbal grate, the rest burning up around him in some seriously mind melting screeeech . I often hear ghostings of other bands in Thought Forms music, but tonight they were their own beast, dying out in the crackling sizzle of electronics and limping ampage…