Sunday, October 31, 2010

Swans and James Blackshaw

Thursday 28th October, KoKo, London

Koko was the place, just down from TOPY shoe repairs, GPO's favourite I bet... The music hall decor adding to the occasion - quite grand and rococo-ed, if a little bit crammed. The stage seemed to dwarf Mr Blackshaw, that night's support, as he plied his wondrous tri-guitar perspectives and multiple time signatures... my head hurt trying to keep up with all that fancy Fu Manchu finger work, even if it failed to silence the inane chatter from the crowd...

The Swans, when they finally hit the stage at 10pm... were 'astounding'... taut and muscular... a testosterone fuelled Goliath, banked by a duo of explosive drumming from Cop Shoot Cop's Phil Puleo and Thor's percussive inventiveness... Insanely LOUD... the show opener was incredible... a lap steel drone cut up with hammered tubes followed by the full team smashing the fuck out of their equipment in unison... an unholy chorus of trombone seeping out of the edges... This you tube moment doesn't capture the extreme pummelling experienced...

but it'll give you an really had to be there, immersed in that racket. When they finally caved in... they left my ears all trebly n vacuum packed...

The sheer weight/force of the music was overpowering verging on brutal. Everybody on stage looked seriously mean... Westberg in particular, looked like he was chewing a wasp as he gazed out on the audience with complete contempt, wished I could hear his guitar more.

The new stuff was amazing, No Words / No Thoughts, Jim glistened with focused intent, a few old time surprises taking you unawares, plenty that I was completely clueless about... no mistaking their rendition of l Crawled though - Gira's ashtray throat carving out the words like pounds of flesh... making you an uncomfortable spectator... 'Put your hands round my throat, now choke me'... 'You're my father I obey you'... That bass/guitar mallet, sheer perfection... the drums reduced to a sloth heavy, corpse slap. His words, fists, smacking home the torrent, torment... later he was booming 'Jesus... come down' mouth all contracted gasp... his arms cruciformed... 'Jesus, Jesus Christttt... ' Anyone else would have been laughed off stage by the absurdity of it... but with Gira... you were half expecting the Son of God to oblige...

A show to remember... no lacklustre... every track bristled with a seething fury that was gobsmackingly beautiful and utterly unique.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Opéra Mort

Clubland Cancers from Paree

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Thursday, October 21, 2010


i'm a sucker for Germanic enunciation and kitschy cover work, just can't help myself... atomick fleeeesh deluuuuzzzzz eclipses the other trks, even her version of the lord's prayer... i did feel a twinge of guilt for all of five minutes then got derailed by it's crapness...

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Kassette Kulture 31# - Betty / Little Creature C30

Betty's plying these dirty reversed tones, choppy zerox zithers of old man industry... creepy organ buzzing low in the mix, suffocated by the backward shrink wrap … then, slipping into a mono-chromed landscape that has an enticing pedigree to it… a distant 'through the wall dynamic' of domestic abuse… shudders n moans, weeping… muffled screams snuffed out in sudden slaps and the rip of gaffer tape… Suddenly, everything goes in a heavy rumbling direction, full of half -anaesthetized radio sibilants, swarfed skipping ropes and squashed smears... bubbling out on an aviary of cruel latex…

The flip is penned by Little Creature, and what a start…. A fuck off roar decaying away on a juicy Organum scraping. Distorted vox, all hell owled… like some meth-hed clanger… moaning away in flanged déjà-vu’s… The clamour, suddenly chopped back to an electro acoustic bang n twang … a bluesy vox, as if Muddy Waters was a distorted animal sucking on a tracing paper comb… He’s really throwing the tool box at this… Contrasty textures and near silence …. Thumb piano droplets with hobo hum... Is that clanking cutlery or loose teeth?… All wiped away on a squeezebox murmur … Sonic desecration is the word, a patchwork of introspective noise and sleep deprived mental states… with a surprise folksy finale of such genteel fingerwork, you're left wondering if the words on the inlay are indeed the lyrics...

get yrself over to LF Records immediately.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Wounded Galaxies

Released today on yummy white vinyl

Andrew Perry, Anders Gjerde and Sindre Bjerga

The Croft Bristol - 12th October

… After an aborted start, Andrew Perry decided on giving out a Keiji Haino-ish guitar loopage, coupled with plenty of vocal syrup... turned the speakers into squalling beacons, heavy with fouled sediments and bloated rats… really loud, even from the back of the room... made me anxious to play my copy of this as soon as humanly possible.

… In contrast, the prismic sheen of Anders Gjerde's set was uber chilled, cut up fragments, stellar thrown… a mixture of road noises, acoustic twangs and gargling throats. Super cute electronica, melodies skipping within the found sounds, dribbling out Harmonia/Cluster-esque motifs... the crystallised gleam of broken glass and drifting transits… a sound full of angles, exits, fed by a bountiful imagination…

… The tactile headscapes of Sindre Bjerga were an analogue pleasure of Lilith-like shutters and trenched repetitions. Burning spheres of action spiking the buzz/hum in ‘hand cupped’ surge. Alternating between ancient tape devices, grainy moments were toyed with or dispersed to differing directions …a light underbelly binding the action up in dronic bleeds, or undercutting it in sweet circuit skimmer... The spinning cymbals were a nice touch, wished they were louder though... for someone who loves electro acoustika as much as I do, this was treat centraal.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Wednesday, October 06, 2010