Tuesday, September 30, 2014
ZamZamRec - Supreme Ritual Noise Action - Tipex Orchestra, Silver Waves, Ewa Justka, The Digitariat, Dave Philips
A great, if a little cramped night over at the old police station...couldn’t bear to miss another noise night and the chance of catching Dave Phillips in action sealed the deal... First up were the Tipex Orchestra an ad hock ensemble of arrhythmic fun... and the first time I've seen a step ladder used as an instrument... later thrown across the drums as things descending into a mosh pit pyramid of bodies, guitars and food...Henry Collins, a squashed plastic pagan beneath it all horn calling a truce.
Silver Waves – Shifted some satisfying noise and a bit of cymbal thrashing too, as grating abrasives were cut into wholesome chucks... the semi-sequenced candy, dynamically swinging the momentum into a fist of a finale... just like those 2nd Gen guys used to
Ewa Justka... flashing strip lighting and strobe...a hacked TV monitor giving visuals to the abstracts flowing forth... maybe adding to them...loads of tones colliding, colluding...skuttering your ear in curious rhythmics, eaten into by interference, a host of cross pollinating shapes weaving plenty of synaptic shocks and dronic blurs. The tempo joysticked around like a rag doll gouging a semi-realised techno before dicing it into a stutteridge of machine mirages... the flashing lighting adding further to the feeling of malfunction...In a word 'Brilliant!'
The Digitariat was Paul Knowles from Islington with numerous axes to grind and the most violent of the nights action... with his razor blades of high pitched squeal...and uber-harsh panel pins... screaming into the microphone backed by dense storm of atonalities...steep slabs of attack that reminded me of Phillip Best, minus the licked scrapbook of little children.
Dave Philips (Schimpfluch Gruppe pioneer) stole the show in abrupt machine smarts impeccably choreographed to screen splashes of Helvetica bold pointing the finger at our complacently / selfish consumption... a host of animal cruelty zapping the screen bathing us in the despicable stench of being human ......A dervish of drone curdling underneath, launched in sudden shocks of sonic violence... that image of a dead monkey with the word 'crap' tattooed on his shaven forehead sticking with me forever ...the room trembling to the onscreen horror of a bulldozed trench full of live pigs running blindly over each other to escape a tide of swallowing earth......DP's sniping mousetraps echoing the electrified spasms of test animals. Slit throats, abattoir scenes to a fizzing of wires... a repeating machine crunch that seemed to be screaming accusingly 'Use your eyes...your eyes...your eyes... as a trainered foot pushed firmly into the head of a wolf, it's jutting jaw crushed to a barrage of screeching wares... An amazingly powerful experience that left you hollowed out and wordless.
Friday, September 26, 2014
This is a brilliant eclectic mix, offset by interludes from some self help seminar on the subject of relieving you of the burden of clutter. Personally, I love to wallow in stuff (clutter that is) finding neatness a teensy bit too sterile, but here the advice (given with a glinting smile no doubt) is the perfect foil for the fragility and jaded beauty on offer. A place where the shiny world of productivity meets the more human in break-beat, post everything flavours, shaking the tree in off-kiltered teenbeat tatters. Starts with 'Hidden', an intoxication of Mazzy Starr-esque vapours, Sofia DeVille's sultry vocals and candy curls of tabla making out with the creeping condensation of hypno strings and swirling breathe. Ab Jackson and his cheesy seminars kicking in straight after, his reverbed charms separating each track, sometimes blurring simultaneously in some weirded schisms of wasp vocals twisting your noggin in imagined tomorrows mixed with peculiar bends of flamenco.
Smiling Disease stabs you in the chest early on with that amazing vastness - all splashed hand claps and symphonic choirs mincing over a dervishly additive baseline....closely followed by Mewlips piano melancholics... words stagger-stepping over broken beatitudes chewing over disaffections in asymmetrical poetics. The glorious technicolour head crashes of Lizzard Bleach are wholesome too... as they ply their 'cat swung' approximation of rock n roll / surf whatevers in glinting telecaster and thundering percussions, the ampage hissing like a deep fat fryer... and that's just half of side one!
Compilations can be hit and miss but I'm hard pushed to find anything laggy in this collection, everything gleams a plenty, it's easy to see why this artefact has slipped into sold-outs-ville, but as ever the digital can be attained over in bandcampland for all eternity
Thursday, September 25, 2014
I'm staring at two colours, their colliding edges are vibrating like the harmonium of Espera - the opening song on Lutine's debut album, that glassy warmth of vocals they're plying just 'takes you back' with its dazzling purity... A hyper-real glisten where words are tied on shimmering currents, mixed with the cold tinge of Autumn... the approaching aperture of Winter drawn round a crackling fire...the perfect time to let this curl your ear.
Propped up by minimal tinder-sticks of piano, zither, the odd fluttering of Casio, the voices here are the main showcase... the sparseness of the surroundings emphasising a fragility that's hard to shake off...brings to mind the haunted ilk of Vashti Bunyan, Anne Briggs or the more recent Larkin Grimm or the Unthanks... but the crystal natures here are more a mirrored pool you can see the distorted bottom of, an Ophelia bound in the harmonics of love and tears, where piano fingers echo the vocals like falling blossom. Emma Morton and Heather Minor have certainly wrought a delicate debut that weaves quite a spell.