Captain Super Scranchin
Another Self Release Release. CDR
Every now and again an email arrives that goes something like this; ‘I’m a big fan of your blog and I’d like you to review a release that I put out twenty years ago that did diddlysquat and if I ever decide to have any kids you can be the Godfather and when I die I’ll leave all my worldly possessions to you or the charity of your choice. I don’t care if you like my release or not [though secretly I’m hoping that you do like it and write a glowing review so that I can get rid of the 98 copies I’ve got left under the bed] I just hope you get time to listen to it. Byyeeeeeeeee'.
Or something like that.
Its a tough job and you’ve got to say it like it is because if all you do is write about how great everything is you soon loose the respect of your readers - we’ve been here before, you know the score. My job is to inform and to [hopefully] educate. To point you good people in the direction of the great and to keep you clear of the crud. And whilst all forms of art are subjective you sort of get to trust someone with their the opinion. Its the critics job. When a critic you trust says something is of worth can be pretty sure thats its going to be there or there about in the quality stakes. When a critic says that a release is so bad its use as a bird scarer would be wasted then you have to trust them. Which is where Captain Super Scranchin comes in.
The Captains problem lies in the fact that he doesn’t really know what he wants to sound like. He obviously likes the sounds themselves but doesn’t know how to put them together. There’s a quite interesting 1950’s Sci-Fi synth sound that you could easily imagine coming from one of Xenakis’s more out there spatial works but he spoils it by smearing some squeaky Casio keyboard crap all over the end of it. And that is as near as I got to actually wanting to hear something again. Tapes get rolled in reverse and voices are slowed down but it all seems so aimless and directionless.
What Captain Super Scranchin needs to do is to get down and dirty and forget about the textured insert and jokey label name. He wants to come round Halifax with me on a Saturday afternoon and get blind drunk then go home and forget about it looking nice and just go for it and stick whatever comes out on a recycled Glen Campbell cassette and call it the first thing that comes into his head. Then we might just have something.