Monday, August 31, 2009

slick-proto-faust-mumble-tron



Beak> they be and mighty fine they are...

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Teeth of the Sea and Oneida

19th August - The croft, Bristol





Wow…. Teeth of the Sea, or sea of teeth as I like to call them, envisioning a rolling tide of gnashing incisors … were bloody amazing, so excuse the lack of pics… those floor tom’s killed me with their viciousness… early 80’s post punk shivers… Dance Chapter, In Camera (no not the Heemann project) even Mass…broken-youth-musick, the guitar’s blackened silhouettes on a grey skyline… Eyeless in Gaza napalm… that crystal skull piercing light of urban bonfires…you could taste the vivacity, as the bleached blonde guitarist pulled Rowland S Howard shapes under those driven power punches… a bit of trumpet and the odd sample crept in their, but it was the drums that stole the show …



The holy O-NEID-A topped the night, stabbing out big chunks of monosyllabic rhythm and then sprinting away with them, a crazed poster paint fight of fuzzy knife edges and insane drumming, guitars piling on the saturation… blistering…



20min songs full of that 'is it finishing - no - it’s re-igniting' velocity, the two keyboarders knuckling the ivories like spastic apes pickled in an ocean of sweat… and damaged vocals… these guys were a tour de force, carving it up and leaving you mad for more……

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Joined by Wire – Black Axis 1-4



This starts as a trippy concoction of Escher like traceries, mirror on mirror tugging at your cranium in infinites. Engorged and parabolic, those possessive vibes trapping you in the stare of those long haul headlights, endless dynamics - a shroud of turpentine skulled halluci.

Two shorter tracks follow on from this, the first hits you harder, with a coarse drilling and Austrian radio wave nausea, clearing to a cutting room floor of south country accent and conversational snippets... Then track 3 comes in with its boiler house metallic, shackled to a riveted equine snort… leading to a teeny vacuum packed reprieve of rodent wheel squeak, a prelude to the blistering finale…

A hex-ville thicket of barbed crosses and scared vocals (or those sub-harmonics are messing with my head again). A death candy garden blown through some frazzled casio constructed of sparrow throats… as burning butterflies replace your eyes, and your teeth chatter like railway carriages caught in some amorphic cataclysm… Warning beacons pleading for collapse… trampled underfoot, then emptied out into the silent abyss…

I love this release right down to the Luftwaffe typography. I really wish I’d ignored the parking ticket worries back in Aug of '08 and stuck around to catch this band fling their wares live…

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Silver Stairs of Ketchikan, Rita Lynch, Deej Dhariwal, The Fauns

Friday 7th August - The Croft, Bristol



Somebody had just been stabbed as we turned the corner to the Croft, a swarm of police littering the curb-side as a wide eyed Deej assured us it wasn’t fatal. Inside Charlie was sound checking, looked up from bowing that battered tin and asked if it was loud enough; a resounding yeah came back…







Her set was lovely, more chantress than recent, a lot more vox this time round, the guitar softer, less pointed, fringed in a coy noise that seemed reluctant to let rip… I think this was frustrating her a tad, leaving a starker / disjointed glow to the set, but I enjoyed it all the same as discernable words escaped the drone in syllablised patterns and everything slipped in and out of focus behind closed eyes…


the Etruscan beauty of that biscuit tin...




Rita Lynch was all spiky guitar punk, with added drums from Saturation Point’s banger of flesh (least I think it was)… her vox was crumpled, hard edged, spreading the dis-sat like refrigerated sushi revenge… stabbing at the guitar, that killer drum-work pure incendiary as her face folded into the words like somebody that wanted to get even…





the conjuror's set notes







Deej started all moan ghost, a coat of hobo garbage carving up the speakers, Robinson Cru-sonics, heavy sludge atremble with itchiness. A penetrating hex coaxed out of keyboards, slow doom like guitar gestures and fx-twisting with the thunder stick finale being slightly drowned out, left to dwell in the trebly otherness of scattering sugar cane…





The last act, The Fauns, were probably more conservative in comparison, but by no means a bore as that fuzzy interplay and those buried girly intones gave out a pleasing shoegazery high… reminded me of a certain 4ad band back in the day when the label was a bastion of quality.







Saturday, August 08, 2009

P45 - Dsic

Dsic - P45

This is another stellar collection of noise fidgeting from Bristol’s Dsic, a couture nightmare dealing out abrasive abstraction in ever wonderful variety. A rusted can of shard and valve prospecting, a place where prism mangling and haunted origami happily mix with numbing enchantment. Recession music suitably packed in the lurid blue/black of a P45 - perfect hed-phonics for wandering the empty and dust blown, the spectres of machines, crimping your mind with their broken canker.