Jason Crumer - Let There Be Crumer

Jason Crumer - Let There Be Crumer
Second Layer CD. SLR016.




Contact: www.secondlayer.co.uk

 

And there goes another decent record shop. R.I.P. Second Layer.  Not that I ever went. I went past it once whilst crawling out of London playing my part in the Friday afternoon ritual that is the exodus of the metropolis. The spare moments that I had during trips to the capital never proved conducive to Second Layer homage thus I never got the opportunity to chuck some money over the counter for some of Pete’s fabulous wares - I did my bit with the mail order though. At least we have the RRR Record Store LP with which to relive Second Layer memories and there’ll be photos knocking about and memories for those that went and spent. Perhaps most importantly the mail order section survives along with the website and the label.

An example of which sits here. I’ve been staring at Crumer’s fizog for too long now [I’m assuming its him on the cover although the similarity between Crumer and Todd Rundgren in his drug saturated heyday is uncanny]. It was either Crumer or the cake on the back sleeve - a cake that looks like it was made by somebody on acid with access to an unlimited supply of day-glo foodstuffs. On the inside there’s a foldout triptych featuring cock fights and dead rats all of which by now will have led the thoughtful amongst you to have deduced that this is a bit of an all over the place release. And so it proves.

Crumer has moved around within the noise beast for a while now but I don’t have too much of his work here to compare - a RRR LP which features plenty of noise and the odd PE type track and an Ignovimus CD from 2006 which will remain deep within the cardboard walls of a very deeply buried box.

On Let There Be Crumer he moves from drone to noise to field recordings to tubular bells to musical boxes and all the way back again in a bid to create something, some kind of concept, some kind of noise concept album, some kind of I don’t know what. A series of rather fetching short stories printed on the inner sleeve in the teeniest tiniest font you could ever imagine prove to be rather fetching but from all this I detect the hand of someone at a crossroads not knowing which path to take.

As a whole it is all over the place but within there lies much charm, the held down key drone that opens and ends the piece is delightful enough as are the tubular bells that feature a heavy downpour as accompaniment, the dull drone that follows the tinkling of a musical box builds to capture within its length the grinding of industrial machinery before the musical box reappears. The only parts of Let There Be Crumer I didn’t like were the noisy parts, which I suppose is why we’re all here. The juxtaposition of all those dainty sounds shunted into some all out tabletop free for all doesn’t sit easy with me. Maybe it will with you?

RUNDGREN

CRUMER

The Digitariat - Its A Fix

The Digitariat - Its A Fix
No label. CDR. 50 Copies.



Contact: www.thedigitariat.blogspot.com






Paul Knowles’ noisy Digitariat rants have flickered across our screens for a number of years now. Since relocating to London he’s definitely found more to rant about than he would have in leafy Harrogate. London does that to people. Deviating from his last release in such a manner that this becomes a serious handbrake turn we now find The Digitariat in more familiar territory than the one where glue records provide the soundbase. The foul mood that rails against class and caviar in a style reminiscent of early Whitehouse is one to warm the cockles of any self respecting nihilists heart and its one that Knowles performs with manly aplomb. The thirty minute live performance as captured at London’s Hope & Anchor in February this year shows that Knowles really can deliver a top noise rant. His cathartic delivery style twinned to some pummeling noise hits the spot and when he sings ‘Whats the difference between now and a Victorian workhouse?’ you really get the feeling that he means it [man]. Unfortunately all this venom disappears down the pan in an instant when Knowles breaks the silence that follows to meekly ask if theres time for one more. 

Its quality control that ultimately lets down this release down - a fault that runs through many a noise platter. The temptation to fill up your CDR with whatever’s lying about must be a strong one and its to be discouraged. If we’d have left The Digitariat after his Victorian workhouse onslaught we could have all gone home happy, instead we’re treated to an unwanted encore and some fucking about over which we hear the audience chat about tube times and whose round it is. What follows is even worse and best left alone. The previous five studio tracks hold out much promise which makes the oddball stuff all the more discombobulating; the title track fizzes by with much gusto, ‘A Flash of Smile’ is a volley of overdubbed vocals that shows Knowles is no slouch in the recording studio either, ‘Where’s The Advantage’ is sultry vocals over a industrial barrage, ‘Fix’ is Whitehouse homage circa Quality Time where those lovely falling down the steps bass bombs rub shoulders with frotted scaffolding and the odd nip of piercing feedback. ‘You Don’t Know What Skint Is’ sounds remarkably like one of John Cooper Clarke’s Martin Hannet produced jobs in which Knowles ask lots of questions of a similar hue in a flat voice through a rolled up newspaper; ‘What’s an avocado? Where does caviar come from? …’ the bass rumbles on in a gloomy Gang of Four style, the drums hit a 4/4 beat ... there’s not many noise artists working that could cover so much ground and make it so utterly listenable. And then comes the crud.

Knowles has a really big axe to grind. If he can temper it and use it in the editing suite he may end up with something remarkable. As it is now all those remarkable bits are lost. Hopefully not forever though.

Yoshihiro Kikuchi / Michael Muennich / Fragment Factory

 

YOSHIHIRO KIKUCHI - One Intensely Eats Up Another Economic Principle
Frag21. Cassette. 66 Copies.

MICHAEL MUENNICH - Zum Geleit
Frag22. 3” CDR. 50 copies.





Michael Muennich’s Fragment Factory label grows in interest with each passing release. With a back catalogue that includes Kevin Drumm, GX Juppiter-Larson, John Duncan, Z’EV and the humble Filthy Turd it has evolved through noise into more conceptual areas. The last release that came through these hands worked with EVP or ‘hearing dead folks in the trees’ as I like to call it. Most releases run to a handful of copies and most of them disappear fairly quick, so if either of these tickle your tastebuds I’d get a move on.

Yoshihiro’s compositions evolve from the inability of one operating system to play another operating systems sound files. There’s lots of technical included [written in a font that makes flyspeck seem large] which in not so many words translates as ‘Apple no like Windows and vice versa’. The results are four tracks and 25 minutes worth of digital chatter, warble and hiss. There are differences between the four but for the most part this is a series of rapid glitches which may or may not be of interest depending on how you view computers. Not that these are uninteresting sounds, its just that they seem unerringly ‘cold’. That's computers for you I suppose.

Muennich’s work is far more edifying. Originally released in a micro edition of 12 ‘Zum Geleit’ is 17 minutes of electroacoustic pops, tinkles and synaptic flickers that carried this listener along its length numerous times. I was hearing amplified insect munching, tiny bells, the clatter of finger cymbals, dregs of liquid being sucked up a straw, incessant bubbling. Its all a delight and I’m guessing its made with turntables, tapes and various ephemera of a kitchen nature wired up to contact mics that are left free to swing in the wind. Whatever its construct the results are a wonderful slice of incessant fevered chatter that give comfort to those whose ears are finely attuned to the more intriguing sounds emanating from this end of the spectrum. 


http://fragmentfactory.com/

Arvo Zylo - 333

Arvo Zylo - 333
No Part Of It. CDR

Delirious Music For Delirious People
No Part Of It. CDR



There are some genres of music that I feel I will never come to terms with; trad jazz, scraping atonal modern classical, hip-hop, the boom-boom-boom stuff that you can hear coming out of teenagers cars half a mile away, bland pop and the kind of opera that seems to consist of two fat people bellowing at each other for five hours. Today I’ll add whatever it is that Arvo Zylo has created. I have no idea what you would call it though but this doesn’t stop me guessing: Sequencer Noise? Genre Collision? Overworked Sampler Dirge? ADHD Soundtrack?

I imagine Mr. Zylo as some kind of modern Wizard of Oz, the man behind the curtain spinning wheels, pulling levers, shouting orders to a massed orchestra of sequencer operators urging them to spit out their drum and bass samples, their hard beat samples, their fairground ride samples, their chipset computer game music samples. I’m looking at my notes for inspiration because, because, I just cant bring myself to play this again. Twice was more than enough. The first time to acclimatise myself to it and the second just to make sure that what I heard the first time wasn’t a mistake.

The saddest part of this story is that ‘333’ took Arvo six years to put together. One can only assume that this wasn’t six years continuos work but the odd hour on in front of the PC in-between propping a bar up somehwere. Whatever kind of genre you would like to chuck this in with you can tell from the first listen that its overworked. overwrought and overcooked. A triumph of editing skills over listenability.

I do like Arvo’s radio shows though [judging from the other disc he sent me that is - I haven’t actually sat through one of his broadcasts in its entirety]. Delirious Music For Delirious People is a celebration of his Delirious Freeform Radio Show that goes out live both in Chicago and Split [and of course across the internet]. Its 23 tracks [au natural] showcase an eclectic taste that ranges from all out noise to punk to faux lounge muzak. I listened in awe to an amazing cover of Faust’s ‘Why Don’t We Eat Carrot’s’ by the Big City Orchestra, I discovered a bunch of nutters from San Francisco called Hans Grusel's Krankenkabinet, I heard tracks from Boyd Rice, Controlled Bleeding, The Centimeters, Jarobe and the delightfully monikered Diatric Puds & The Blobbettes. Which got me to wondering how somebody with such a wide and varied taste in music could create something as horrible as 333?



http://nopartofit.blogspot.co.uk/

http://www.deliriousinsomniac.com/

http://claytoncounts.com/333

Glands of External Secretion - Reverse Atheism

Glands of External Secretion - Reverse Atheism
BUFMS. BUFMS32. 2 X LP

 Contact: http://www.tediumhouse.com/labels/bufms



Before I listened to Reverse Atheism I never knew that Edgar Winter had made a record with lyrics supplied by L Ron Hubbard, I never knew that in 1973 The Osmonds had made a philosophy of life concept album with a track on it called ‘Last Days’:

[sample lyric]

Nations take up their battle stations
Patrons of zodiac revelations
Lustations breaking family relations
Litigation allowing shoot up sensations
That's what they said, someday it would be
Now just look around if that's what you see
It's gotta be the last days
Gotta be the last days


I never knew that Andy Partridge had written a song highlighting his dissatisfaction with God, I never knew that there was a Canadian Jesus rock trio called New Creation who sound like a slightly more competent Shaggs only with added God, I’d never heard of off the scale whacko Dan Ashwander either, a man who claims he has scientific proof that he is both Jesus Christ and God combined. Alongside these revelations I found Hugo Ball rubbing shoulders with Nick Cave, the Hippocrattic oath sitting cheek by jowl with Alejandro Jodorowsky, the 23rd Psalm bisecting David Crosby and God’s Gift. I also found a fold out poster that reproduced images of everybody involved and an enlarged American one dollar bill printed on which was a Biblical quotation and the words 'Ronald [6] Wilson [6] Reagan [6'] and if all this wasn’t enough there’s also a colour by numbers Last Supper should you fancy getting your crayons out.

Barbara Manning and Seymour Glass have taken songs, tracts of text, Psalms and the odd Dada poem to construct a pean to the follies of religion. Helped along the way by a mass of Butte County volunteers [including Bruce Russell, Dave Gulbis, Ukuzuna and Alistair Gilbraith, to name but a few] they dismantle and reconstruct until you end up with something as bizarre the 23rd Psalm delivered pub singer style followed by a reading of one of Elizabeth Clare Prophets’ anti rock music sermons in which waling tortured souls are to be heard against some backward tape and a warbling vocal.

Songs like XTC’s ‘Dear God’ spell it out plainly enough but in case you still haven’t got it by side two there’s Gods Gift and their none too subtle ‘No God’. By side four we’re into more oblique territory and a cover of Hank Williams ‘I’ll Never Get Out Of This World Alive’ followed by a morbid and decidedly creepy version of the The Birthday’s Party’s ‘Mutiny In Heaven’ [a song that carries the memorable line - ‘From slum-chuch to slum-church, ah spilt mah heart to some fat cunt behind a screen’].

Side three is the deepest and darkest of the four; a sublime series of segued spoken word tracks all helped along by Glass’s treated tape manipulations and Manning’s deft electric guitar work. ‘We Have Control of The Mind’ is taken from a Dan Ashwander tract in which he claims these words, as spoken by John F Kennedy, were directed specifically at him. Its a matted thicket of voices, tape loops, odd sounds, twanged guitar; repeated phrases mention secret societies, electroshock therapy, telepathy and then a Jesus rock group singing hallelujah to the sound of manic laughing. ‘The Hippocratic Oath’ exists amidst a background of lo-fi squeaks, whistles and scratchy violin with various bodies revealing talk of pessaries and abortion, as the side progresses tracks dissolve into each other leaving this listener in a state of warped discombobulated bliss.

Glass’ tape manipulations warble and churn, voices are looped, snippets of music come and go, a distant voice, an odd bell sound, the singing of monks, a myriad of sounds, numberless in measure. Manning’s guitar work is subtle, sometimes Bailey-esque pluck, at times a shimmering strum, her vocals are a crumbled distortion sounding like someone singing down a dodgy long distance telephone line, an ethereal disconnected voice that is both eerie and hollow [in a good way that is]. Each track is imbued with immense depth so that repeated listens reveal deeper and deeper layers of nuance. And then there’s the numerous collaborators who flit in and out of this release leaving their voice or their trademark scrape as evidence of their being there.

And then there's the philosophy that lies behind all this. Something I feel less than qualified to write about but which points a big dirty finger at religion, theology and most probably existentialism. One day somebody will disseminate this remarkable double album and its true greatness will be revealed. As for me I’m still digging around in Jodorowsky’s background and wondering how Roald Dahl ended up getting credited on the same album as L. Ron Hubbard. The Glands have given us an album that continues that great tradition of taking an experimental approach to popular music and infused it with a religious health warning. Not something you come across everyday.

What saddens me about Reverse Atheism is that its greatness has yet to be recognised. I’m not sure how long this has been on release but a cursory scan of the internet reveals that little has been said in its support. As an intelligent listener the least you can do is buy a copy and find out what’s going on for yourself.

The Zero Map

The Zero Map - Live @ Spirit of Gravity 2011
3” CDR

http://thezeromap.wordpress.com



It must be all the salad in Brighton that does it. That or the profusion of coffee shops selling five pound cups of artisan civet shit encrusted mocha. The last time I was there the arrival of some late, late Autumnal sunshine lifted the spirits somewhat but the set meal on offer at the Colour Out of Space fest, the reason of said visit, rarely rose above the ordinary.

If I was The Zero Map I’d be tugging on Colour Out of Space organisers shirt sleeves and asking for a spot on this years bill. A night of melancholy drone, drifting tones and plucked strings would do me nicely. Which is where The Zero Map come in. Inhabiting that dreamy droney world where [judging from this twenty minute slice of live action at least] they flit like birds trapped in a church, from multi-struck zither like instruments to ethereal sounding organ keys that emit sounds reminiscent of a 1930’s radio orchestra coming at you through decades of static. As this piece progresses sounds emerge of a disguised nature that had me wondering if they’d duct-taped someones mouth in order to make their breathing more difficult, bead filled maracas beat insect like whilst wailing ghosts make their presence felt. Swannee whistles sit cheek by arse with tingly bells and ever so slight Theremin-y things emit small but wondrous ear tickling noises. An absolute charmer.

A delightfully melancholic trip from Messrs. Chloe Wallace and Karl M V Waugh, who I’m led to believe are sometime A Band dabblers. Next time in Brighton let me buy you a drink, not a five pound cup of coffee of course.    

Spon 15 - Must Die Records Sampler

Spon 15
A5 Zine. 25 copies

http://www.batcow.co.uk/steg/comics.htm
http://www.worldheadpress.com/ezine4/

Must Die Records / Sampler
MDR. CDR

www.mustdierecords.co.uk
soundcloud.com/must-die-records




The observant amongst you will notice that my last review came via Headpress. I used to buy Headpress magazine back in the early 90’s when its coverage of all things transgressive appealed to my inquisitive tendencies. Its strap line in those days read ‘Sex, Death, Religion’ and if those things don’t get your taste buds going then there really is no hope for you. I went on the Headpress website to discover that they’d been happily bobbing along without interference from me ever since the day I stopped buying it and had even expanded their empire to include all manner of interesting looking books. Even better, the magazine itself is now available as a free e-zine. It was there that I discovered that the venerable Dr. Adolf Steg had been given mass coverage with added Stan Batcow interview footage for good measure.

When Dr. Steg began sending me his deranged Spon zines I was heartened by the fact that there was still someone out there printing and mailing out madness. Letters arrived that made little or no sense. Spon 15 arrives with a window card containing a squashed fly whilst written inside, in a spidery hand, were the words ‘Sympathy for the Brevil, Dr. Adolf Steg [Swastika] 23x23’. You cannot replicate such industry on internet social networking. You could lump Steg in with the ‘outsider artist’ gang and I guess that would work but as ever I’m uneasy about using such generic tags. His artwork grows out of comic book manure but also includes mixed media work including a marvelous Marylyn Monroe whose visage has been enhanced with various bits of circuit board and wiring. Eat your heart out Andy Warhol.

Spon 15 is a slim A5 comic wrapped in a sleeve that highlights the case of 2000AD, DC Thomson artist Ron Smith who was charged with sexually abusing a 13 year old girl. A curious and upsetting case that took donkeys years to come to light and fell apart the moment it hit court. Inside Steg has cut and pasted all manner of different comics and styles to make his own. Whether this is homage to Smith or Steg just trying to get something out of his system I don’t know. Another baffling entry into the Steg book of work. Not a million miles away from what Evil Moisture’s Andy Bolus has been doing but here replacing disturbing with comic book surrealism.


Somewhere down the line Adolf Steg and Must Die Records must cross paths. Whether they are one and the same remains to be seen but there’s definitely some MDR promo stuff stuck into some of Steg’s work and I dare say that seeing as how they both originate from Blackpool environs that cups of tea and trips to the shops have been shared.

Of the 13 tracks on the MDR sampler the bands to take note of are the Ceramic Hobs, Smell & Quim and The A Band. Thats not to say that the rest is trash; ‘Variable Phantom’s’ shortwave pulse with broken radio transmissions gets the thumbs up as does ‘Uncle Paul’ who sound remarkably like Harbinger Sound faves the Sleaford Mods. ‘Left Hand Cuts Off Right’ chucks out some primitive industrial noise pulses and seeing as how I’ve had a soft spot for chipset music since its inception I can’t let this go without mentioning ‘Archie Wah Wah’. The Hobs sing about beating up baby seals which’ll go down a storm on Rainbow Warrior outings and S&Q give us two tracks in one, the first being a spacey outing called Xanadon’t and the other a short thing of a capella beauty called ‘Desperhardon’. Perhaps the most surprising track of all comes from the A Band who could possibly be the last band I’d have thought of to turn up on a MDR comp. A near 15 minute romp of parping bash and  stomp in which the titular words ‘TV Sets From Winter’ give way to an almighty racket of Nihilist Spasm Band proportions. The longer it goes on the more out of control it gets until it ultimately sounds like a marching Sun Ra Arkestra going round the Rose and Crown picking up other peoples drinks and downing them with merry gusto. Lets hope that something from the A Band appears on MDR soon.

I wont dwell on the stuff that didn’t interest me [think thrapy guitars and guitar noodlings from Bad Suburban Nightmare] but I will dwell on the fact that sticking one of your promo decals onto the front of a plain CD card isn’t what you’d call taxing the art department. But then I get the feeling that this is a cheapie for trades kind of thing and as such should be pushed into the harsh glare of the stage lights for all to see.

David Ray Carter - Conspiracy Cinema

Conspiracy Cinema.
Propaganda, Politics and Paranoia

David Ray Carter

Headpress.

Paperback edition 288pp.
[also available in hardback].

ISBN-13: 978-1-900486-81-1

www.worldheadpress.com





The World Trade Center was destroyed by the New World Order to facilitate the opening of a stargate. Operation Desert Storm was a false flag event that enabled the Illuminati to seize genie bottles containing demons. JFK was assassinated by the CIA, the KGB, the Mafia, the Illuminati and people who wanted to lower world oxygen levels. Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated by the Memphis Police, the FBI, the US Army, the Mafia and a bar owner. Paul McCartney died in 1966 and was replaced by a double. Princess Diana was an Illuminati sacrifice. The British Royal family are shape-shifting lizard like aliens and man never stepped foot on the Moon. According to one film Carter reviews here Jay-Z is an occultist with his eye on world domination.

Everybody loves a conspiracy theory, from those of us who think that traffic lights are against us to car manufacturers deliberately fitting parts that wear out quickly. In David Carter’s book we meet filmmakers with much more important things to get off their chests. By its end you will be familiar with false flag events, the ever present but hard to track down Illuminati and what must be about 250 conspiracy films, including those made by David Icke, the man who thinks the Royal Family are those shape shifting Illuminati aliens. Or something like that anyway. Due to the number of conspiracies flying around Carter’s book my head was spinning somewhat but I certainly knew my Illuminati’s from my New World Order's by its end.

David Ray Carter has sat through hundreds of hours worth of conspiracy films, a tremendous task when you take into account that most conspiracy filmmakers produce works that regularly run up to several hours in length and contain material that is regularly regurgitated. Carter even watches works that are tangentially attached to the genre so as to give himself a bigger and more informed picture, as in the case of the ten hour, five DVD marathon that is ‘Hell’s Bell’s - The Dangers of Rock and Roll’, a film that only gets mentioned in passing but which I feel impelled to watch. With Carter in charge we have the perfect guide to the steady explosion of conspiracy cinema now emerging both within the mainstream and the internet.

Carter’s review style is plain, logical and more importantly, impartial. Rarely does he outright recommend something, but when he does you take notice. The inept and the bigoted are rightly named and shamed, but he doesn’t stoop so low as to give them a critical beating. He merely states that he finds their views lack evidence, or are just plain obnoxious. Praise is given when he feels it’s necessary, and by keeping this praise in check you get the feeling that you are in the hands of somebody whose opinion you can trust. 

What I found intriguing about Conspiracy Cinema, and the thing that kept me going to the end [of what is basically a critical reference work], was the sheer depth of the subject, something of which I have to admit I was mostly unaware of. Once you’ve got past the big conspiracy events [JFK, RFK, 9/11, Martin Luther King Jr, Waco, the Moon landings, the Oklahoma bombings], Carter moves on to the ‘Grand Theories’ where you encounter the big daddies of the conspiracy world; the Illuminati and the New World Order. In the final chapter, ‘Lesser Conspiracies’, we find media, politics, religion, police states, surveillance, health, the environment, finance, HIV/AIDS, the weather, chemtrails and HAARP [a radio transmitter in Alaska blamed for earthquakes and Gulf Syndrome amongst other things].  There’s plenty others to choose from too, most of them ranging from fascinating to the just plain bizarre. It was these latter chapters that had me scribbling the most notes and the one that got me watching the first of Carter’s recommended films: Kevin Booth’s ‘American Drug War: The Last White Hope’. Booth argues that there’s a drug problem in America because the Government wants there to be one. A strong argument for which there’s plenty of evidence.

My criticisms are small but I think pertinent. I was unsure as to which films are freely available for download [except when mentioned in the review]. Some of the filmmakers mentioned here are more than happy for people to redistribute their work for free, as in the case of the most famous 9/11 conspiracy film to date ‘Loose Change’, but I feel that others would prefer to be paid for their work. A list of related websites would have saved me a Google trawl. That's not me being lazy that's me wanting to be pointed in the right direction.

As it stands I’m now more familiar with the big names in conspiracy circles than I was about three weeks ago; Alex Jones - Infowars, Chris Everard - Enigma TV, David Icke - reptiles and turquoise tracksuits. What I worry about most is that some of them might even be telling the truth.

The Last Night of the Broken Flag Weekend.

Attending the last night of the Broken Flag weekender felt a little like gatecrashing a party in its last death throes. By all accounts the previous two nights had, for the most part, divided opinion with Consumer Electronics getting more mentions than most with a typical performance during which the audience were called a bunch of cunts. For some it was the highlight of the weekend so far and encapsulated BF perfectly; a blunt instrument to the face, whilst others thought it was nothing more than juvenile crowd baiting performed by an overweight man drooling onto his tits. Con-Dom and Grunt were raved about, others less so. I’m sad to have missed the best bits but then three nights of full on noise related antics was always going to be more of an endurance test than a weekend of joy  and as things conspired against me it was taken out of my hands anyway. For some, three nights weren’t enough with the night preceding it offering the delights of a full-on PE gig in Dalston. The offer was taken up by some and you could tell who they were come Sunday night.

Six hours was enough for me. By 11.15 Ramleh had completed a shambolic rock set and with one eye on the clock, an aching back for company and several pints of Guinness inside me I decided to head for the last tube rather than endure a TNB performance that would have given me a headache for a week. With no seating available at the Dome [the shitholes actually had more seating than the venue] I was creaking badly from about Club Moral on. The sight of people sticking their heads in the bass bins during the Ramleh rock set did lighten my mood somewhat but it wasn’t enough to save me the hassle of having to fork out a taxi fare back into central London. In true rock gig style the volume leapt 50% for Ramleh and the sound improved no end. The bass sounded particularly impressive, its just a pity that what was being played on it didn’t match what the drummer was doing. At one point Mundy unplugged his guitar and took a walk across the stage to no doubt ask his fellow band members just what it was the fuck they were doing. Best added some electronic noise, sang some of the vocals and rounded things off by telling the audience that they’d just played a cover version of Close to the Edge, I think. By this time Mundy had already put his guitar down and walked off stage leaving rest of the band unaware of his departure.

Club Moral didn’t do anything for me either. Tall thin bloke shouting into a bucket of water whilst female band member stage left produced electronic squiggles on her laptop. And then he began to hit himself in the face with some flowers. This was after he’d eaten a few of them and spat the chewed up remnants into the audience. If they'd have been roses it would have made it much more interesting. My biggest problem with Sunday night was that I arrived thirty years too late. If I’d have been around when Gary Mundy began mailing out his duped cassettes in 1982 then it would have been a more rewarding experience, as it was seeing Danny Devos eat flowers meant nothing. Some would call it performance art.

At least I made the connection with Sigillum S who deeply affected me in the early 90’s. Their's was a performance that took me back to the days when each doormat laden jiffy bag contained almost illicit thrills of joy. A unique mixture of grating electronics, screamed vocals, industrial rhythms, ethnic instruments and deep bass pummel that when matched to a queasy back drop depicting death, viscous dogs and earthworms added up to a spine tingling performance and one that saddened me only because I wish I’d have seen them before tonight. Its got me digging out their old releases which is what 30 year anniversary shows are all about, connecting with the past, celebrating the past and hoping that there’s a future too.

At least the Dome is a decent sized venue with a decent sized PA. Giancarlo Toniutti did his best to hammer everyone's eardrums into submission with it by producing a dense rumbling hum upon which he chucked in all manner debris. Playing from the back of the venue facing the stage, he used a set of speakers behind him to augment the PA and for what seemed like half an hour battered everyone senseless. I saw people lie down so as to be able to take it in a more relaxed fashion and wondered if their backs hurt too. The quieter segments of the Putrifier set were drowned out by audience-propped-on-bar chatter which was a shame as those quieter acousmatic/electro-acoustic/analogue moments are as integral as the louder ones. Everyone seemed eager for more noise.

Earlier in the evening we had Vortex Campaign whose guitar/laptop axis rarely rose above ‘quite interesting’ and show opener Tommi Keränen who after a short pedal noise orientated set left the stage shaking his head in the time honored 'noise artists equipment fails again' fashion.

Reading the forums it would appear that TNB were either all half pissed or part taking part in a carefully executed anti-performance; equipment fails, dropped gadgets, slapstick ... with hindsight I wish I’d have stayed to cheer them on but hindsight's a wonderful thing when you’re rested at home 48 hours after the event.

Pietro Ripabelli - Three Days of Silence

Pietro Ripabelli - Three Days of Silence
Gruenrekorder CD. Gruen 102


Three Days of Silence is described by its composer as being ‘a phenomenological experience’. ‘Phenomenological’ meaning: ‘the detailed description of conscious experience, without recourse to explanation, metaphysical assumptions, and traditional philosophical questions’.

Pietro Ripabelli recorded his phenomenological experiences at the Sanctuary of La Verna, a remote church in Tuscany built on the site where St Francis of Assisi was reputed to have received the stigmata. As you would imagine Ripabelli’s field recordings are exquisitely austere and relay the contemplative nature of the building and its surroundings with a deft touch. But as well as the vespers and the church organ we get more natural sounds such as bird song, bees, the scrubbing of floors [at least thats what it sounded like to me], heavy doors being opened and closed, the turning of ancient keys, a steel bucket being dropped to the floor, hand bells being rung, the recordings are so melancholic in parts that it took me a while to get through it in one go without nodding off, a problem [of the good kind] I’ve had with previous Gruenrekorder releases.

Ripabelli divides the work up into three days with each day having an interlude; ‘Stillness’, Duration’ and ‘Aletheia’ [the spirit of truth]. The main triptych range from pure field recordings to compositions made from sound sources and I suspect a mixture of the two [the sleevenotes describe the third day as a ‘short diary of the experience’].  Whatever Ripabelli has done with these sound sources the results are pretty stunning but it was only after I’d downloaded the original sound sources [via Gruenrekorder] that I got a better understanding of what the final work encapsulates. I was mistaking those throbbing drones for Pirabelli’s work when these are in fact of the Basilica itself - on first listens a major stumbling block when I was of the mind that I would have much preferred these recordings to be have been left bare, me being in the less is more camp. But after much contemplation of my own I found myself warming to this release. The interludes are finely crafted short pieces with ‘Aletheia’ sounding like a lo-fi TNB gig played in a wind tunnel, all scraping floors, shuffling and desolation. ‘Duration’ is a small drone, squeaky doors met with low end farts, flutters and glitches found only at electro-acoustic gigs. ‘Stillness’ is sonar bleeps, sweeps and arctic bleakness. The main parts of the composition provide even further fulfillment: ‘First Day’ where the friar’s vespers are accompanied by that stunning low Basilica hertz hum as it frazzles along besides an increasingly powerful organ run. ‘Second Day’ begins with a drone this time accompanied with dripping water, birds, bells, the drone fades into the background leaving ghostly vespers and eerie floating organ keys. ‘Third Day’ sounds like the most processed of the three and is perhaps the weakest with its pulsing and rapidly vibrating electronic drone masking much of what goes on beneath it.


It goes without saying that you don’t have to be religious to enjoy music of a religious bent, not that is in any way a religious release. The Estonian composer Arvo Pärt is probably the only composer alive whose sacred music is enough to move me emotionally whilst Richard Dawkins, now the most famous atheist in England, chose Bach’s ‘St Matthew’s Passion’ as one of his choice cuts on Desert Island Discs. I myself have sat in Barcelona Cathedral whilst Mass has been performed and enjoyed the purity of the ceremony whilst more recently I found myself listening to an organist run through his repertoire as I sat outside his North Yorkshire church making the most of the weak spring sunshine. Ripabelli’s compositions might not be potent enough to get me join forces with the Franciscan’s of La Verna but whilst listening to 'Three Days of Silence' I felt that I had at least, been with them in spirit.


Contact: http://www.gruenrekorder.de/?page_id=7023

Ceramic Hobs Target Shoppers Jazzfinger Makakarooma Dogliveroil - Fox & Newt Leeds 28th April 2012

Dogliveroil

Dogliveroil

Dogliveroil

Dogliveroil

Makakarooma

Makakarooma

Makakarooma

Makakarooma

Jazzfinger

Ceramic Hobs

Ceramic Hobs

Ceramic Hobs
Target Shoppers
Jazzfinger
Makakarooma
Dogliveroil

Fox & Newt
Leeds
28th April 2012


Thanks to the Fox & Newt the live experimental/noise/drone call-it-what-you-will Leeds scene has been rejuvenated of late. They can’t take all the credit of course but for a lack of a decent venue gigs of a noisy nature have been thin on the ground. The humble and ever so friendly Wharf Chambers aside there were times when small rooms above pubs in Leeds reverberated to all manner of squawking and banging, there was the Fenton which has gone all righteous, the Brudenell which has gone from Phoenix Nights to Las Vegas and the Pack Horse's lack of noise action is a mystery which only the likes of the Toddmeister and Mel can answer.

Apparently you can book the Fox & Newt for not many pounds and make as much racket as you want. The proprietors are very gracious in this way. The other good news is that the Fox & Newt is a brew pub [the only one n the Leeds city environs sadly] and from what I can gather their brews are worth the trek [I can’t comment, went in the car y’see].

It must have been so long since my last gig in a pokey room above a pub in Leeds that the clean environment offered by the Fox & Newt came as something of a shock. No walls plastered in flyers, no crumbling lino splattered with the dead dots of a thousand stubbed out fags, no air of stale sweat or fags, no brimming ashtrays awaiting their first emptying since 2006, no shiny black carpet or bulbs swinging from busted lampshades bought in 1976, no tatty curtains, no rotten window frames, none of this, the room above the Fox & Newt is shiny and new and then along came Dogliveroil and messed it all up when one of their number took a rather large rubber hammer to a box of VHS cassettes. The resulting bits of plastic and miles of unspooled tape found their way around the room as the resultant racket built to something approaching thunder. Some members of Dogliveroil partook their performance in the farthest reaches of the room as far away from the stage as possible, some wore masks, one blew bubbles, I don’t know what one of them did because all I could see was his bum crack but altogether it was a heartwarming and crazy way with which to start the evening.

I saw Makakarooma play in Nottingham a few weeks back. Then we got a set within which a static drummer whacked out a montone beat whilst the rest of the group whacked along with guitars, mainman the Turdster leading from the front in manic ‘day release’ style. Tonight they began with a radio ad for rheumatoid arthritis, Turdster stood staring into the room, eyes glazed, smile fixed as if in some kind of pre gig delirium and then it all erupted. Turdster stood on a table covered in gadgets his clothing covered in silver spray paint, someone joined in with a homemade two string ‘guitar’, a face mask with pub brasses hanging from his ears. Masked guitarists thraped and the drummer went wild before it all went quite so as the Turdster could walk amongst the faithful. He looked them in the eye, rested his hand on a shoulder and intoned some strange kind of benediction to which some smiled and others felt their bowels go loose. The band put down their instruments and picked up A4 pictures of footballers to which they all chanted. The Turdster was wearing an Ox mask then pulled the string on a speaking toy. He blew a single note on a trumpet and it was all over. Then they handed out sweets. I didn’t get one. 


After that it was up to Jazzfinger to blow us away with their deep sonorous drones. Working what looked like amplification built by the Russians in the 1970's they built heavily layered, syrup thick drones of portent that hit you deep in the stomach. One member on keyboards the other on guitar each of them altering a dial as their drone morphed its way to its inevitable climax. There was a point midway when they found a really deep vibe and you could see people reacting to it as they swayed and nodded in solo appreciation but after that I felt it fell away and they were left trying to recapture what had gone before. The keyboard playing half of Jazzfinger showed his appreciation by sweating profusely and sticking his head in the bass bins.


A voice said there’s going to be a Target Shoppers gig. There was some blurb on the flyer announcing special guests so I started to get all flustered seeing as how I’ve never actually seen the Target Shoppers in the live situation. About ten years ago I got so excited about the Target Shoppers that I released an LP by them and then they split up. And then they recently reformed. I missed them at the Wharf Chambers a few weeks ago when I had to leave to fulfill an earlier engagement but they were back in the saddle and I knew that I’d see them again soon. They were all in the room so it made obvious sense; Phil Todd, Joincey, Marky Loo Loo. They got on stage, strapped on guitars, sat behind drums, the Toddmiester introduced the band and then they played for one single second. The Toddmiester thanked the audience and off they strode. I await their next show with much anticipation.


Which left the Ceramic Hobs to further melt the audience’s minds. Having picked up a 21 years old guitarist the Hobs have certainly beefed up their sound of late. They’re also a lot tighter as a band, more raucous and if anything, more deranged. Main Hob and frontman Simon Morris waves a halogen lamp about and when it catches you in the eye its blinding. One member is dressed in a Mexican wrestling mask and plays a plastic toy babies head by rubbing whilst weaving about as if in some kind of delirium, the bass player wears plastic bunny rabbit ears [its Roger Ramjet and he’s back in the band after a lengthy hiatus] the keyboard player plays the keyboards with her arse and it collapses, Morris’s vocal delivery is a deep, chesty scream that's forever on the verge of going hoarse and is still one of this countries best kept secrets. The songs range from one minute all out ghaa to longer excursions of wilder abandon. They reach back into song catalogue going back to the mid 80’s highlighted when Morris announces ‘this is a song that's older than our guitarist’. Rock on. They come back for an encore and go mental for a final thirty second. The teeter between brilliance and chaos. Their day will surely come.

The New Blockaders - Schadenklang

The New Blockaders - Schadenklang
Hypnogogia LP. GOG03
350 copies. [50 copies coming with personalised Richard Rupenus sleeves].




The biggest mystery for TNB watchers is that this ‘live’ LP was recorded earlier this year at Morden Tower, thirty years since TNB’s first ever live performance at the same venue. In their thirtieth anti-versary year it seems appropriate that they revisit the scene of their first crime. Or did they? Maybe a surreptitious slink into Morden Towers for Rupenus R, Gillham and and Hutchinson during half day closing in Newcastle was the only way they could get this down or maybe I missed news of the gig completely [not entirely alien concept round these parts]? As ever the mystery that surrounds TNB is all part of the appeal. What actually did happen and all that matters now is that this LP exists. The rest is conjecture.

What I find remarkable about Schadenklang is the way in which it mirrors those early live outings whilst at that the same time increasing the listeners discomfort. Its like the old Blockaders with piled on agony. Those early 1983 outings saw the two Rupenus brothers create the sounds with which TNB has now become synonymous; scraping metal, clatterings of junk noise, disorientating atmospheres of edgy incoherence ... fast forward thirty years and Schadenklang brings all these elements to the fore with knobs on. Its impressive stuff.

Schadenklang  is an ever rupturing cascade of squealing train brakes, hammered metal, discordant and abrupt braying of tortured and unyielding steel plates shunted into place by three people intent on causing you maximum discomfort. Thanks to Phillip Julian’s mastering the nuances are gorgeously audible leaving the intrepid listener with a feeling of being sucked head first into a painful vortex of randomly and manically hit junk from which escape comes only with the lifting of the needle. Its the simple elements which cause the greatest discomfort; hitting what sounds like a common-or-garden dustbin with a baseball bat will indeed sound pretty noisy, when you incorporate that sound into a niggling bass hum, sawed tin and other various metal abuses the result becomes intensely disorientating.  Its a constant stream of quality noise for which The New Blockaders are rightly recognised as being the leading exponents of.

The recent flurry 30th anniversary releases cements TNB’s status as being  the undisputed masters of noise [for me anyway].

Those ever faithful TNB acolytes wont be disappointed with Schadenklang [translating as ‘destruction noise’]. Its forty minutes will be an endurance test for some but for your hardcore TNB fan its tuck in time.


http://www.thenewblockaders.org.uk/

Mike IX Williams - Glass Torn And War Shortage

Mike IX Williams - Glass Torn and War Shortage: The Purposeful Poisoning of a Shardless
Society

Auris Apothecary. AAX-039. C19 Cassette. 199 Copies




Theres not many releases that have the ability to take the edge off your best Swiss Army knife but thats whats happened here. Scraping broken glass off the outside of a cassette may not be everyones ideal way to start a Sunday morning but I’ve been looking forward to getting my hands cut to ribbons with this release for quite a while now and theres no time like the present.

I’ve been here before though. A previous package from Auris Apothecary contained a cassette by industrial noise extremists Pusdrainer a release that came in a bag full of soil and animal bones. I still have it around here somewhere where I like to think it acts as some kind of link to my pagan past.

Auris Apothecary don’t just do anti releases, things do appear on what some people would consider ‘normal’ formats but for me its their more ‘out there’ offerings that prove the more interesting and rewarding. Last time around, as well as the bag of dirt and animal bones, I received a CD that was more air freshener than music carrier and a cassette rendered virtually unplayable by being stuffed with sand. iTunes be damned.

This time I get a cassette covered in broken glass. I could have taken the easy route out and waxed convenient about the merits of anti releases followed by a resume of Mike IX Williams but [like the Pusdrainer] I was intrigued by what was actually on the magnetic tape buried beneath all that glass. So I got my knife out.

The concept is simple one; to listen to whats actually on here you have to run the risk of personal injury. The blurb does spoil it for me somewhat by getting all carried away with itself; ‘[this] cassette holds the potential to harm the purchaser physically, mentally and spiritually’ which in my book is pushing it. I could indeed have found myself with a piece of broken glass embedded in my thumb but harmed spiritually and mentally?

Having broken the wax seal it took me about five minutes of scraping with said Swiss Army knife to rid the cassette of its glistening outer shell and it was only then I felt a pang of doubt upon realising that it might not actually play. And at first it didn’t. The tape had become so tightly wound during its incarceration that it refused to budge but after a few hefty whacks on the desktop I was in business. No damage to thumb or desktop the only blot on the landscape being a sprinkling of ground glass that seemed to get everywhere.

Mike IX Williams is best known for his involvement with sludge metal band Eyehategod but that doesn’t stop him getting his hands dirty in other areas. For the most part this is misanthropic rant in PE with lots of low end buzz and high end fizz. You have to take the labels word for it that this is indeed misanthropic rant because as ever the lyrics are hard to decipher [I detected the word ‘embarrassment’] but the change in pace, the quieter moments, the [almost] ambience, the rants spoken then screamed, make this a release worth getting your hands cut for, even if I didn’t. Having dipped my toe in the PE pond of late I can say that this came as another welcome release. The entire concept is one to be welcomed.


Auris Apothecary are well worth watching, they work in mysterious areas; recycled cassettes housed in scouring pads, micro cassettes inserted into scented candles, unspooled tape in jars, opium scented cassettes of relaxing guitar loops, cassettes in 8 track shells, floppy discs, VHS cassettes, glue records, rockabilly gospel, drone, experimental noises made from household items, soundtracks from old NES games and releases with music ranging from a minute in length to infinity. There's plenty to absorb here and given the opportunity you really should.



Contact: http://aurisapothecary.org

Kleistwahr/Never Say When/Broken Flag Weekend Festival

Never Say When - 30 Years of Broken Flag

London. Friday May 4th – Sunday May 6th
The Dome, 178 Junction Road, Tufnell Park, N19 5QQ

http://www.facebook.com/events/110573319054726/

http://forum.noiseguide.com/viewtopic.php?t=10420&sid=95aa44b4c9f51fef154f02dcae07f8b7

Kleistwahr - Myth
Harbinger Sound. Harbinger 102. LP

Kleistwahr - Arsonicide
Harbinger Sound. Harbinger 103. LP

[unsure of pressing run for either of these releases]


With Broken Flag passing me by the first time around I’m always keen to hear whether the reissues add weight to the legendary label or whether they’re just the work of die hard fanboys.

But first a plug for the up coming Never Say When/Broken Flag weekend festival. I’ll be there for the last night and a line up that runs like this: 

THE NEW BLOCKADERS
RAMLEH (rock set)
GIANCARLO TONIUTTI
SIGILLUM S
CLUB MORAL
PUTREFIER
VORTEX CAMPAIGN
+ other TBC
 

Not bad eh? Hopefully this time I wont have to dodge any flying TNB debris. The other two nights are as equally beneficial and I urge you to check out the lineups and buy tickets using the above links.


Kleistwahr was Gary Mundy’s solo project. An attritional barrage of indecipherable angst and misanthropy that's now seen as classic Power Electronics.

Myth definitely sounds the more primitive work of the two [and there are big distinctions between them]. On Myth there are rapid oscillations that sound like someone rolling a control knob backwards and forward in an attempt to produce something disorientating. Its a murky sea of electronic squiggles and reverberating, moaned, unintelligible, barked lyrics that occasionally form walls of sound and occasionally collapse into equipment frotting. 

I found Arsonicide’s more minimalist approach worked better than Myth’s all out blare and bluster. Here the vocals are much more prominent even though they’re still delivered in a muffled, threatening style [this on ‘III’ - all tracks on both releases are untitled] which when matched to single wobbling notes or slowly developing seas of static and hiss produce a much more balanced work.  A much more controlled affair and one I find myself increasingly drawn back to.

Hearing these releases in their original early 80’s cassette state must have been quite an experience for the lucky few managing to find a way into that most underground of labels. Hearing them on glorious vinyl has more than made up for my loss.

Gary Mundy’s label continues to grow in stature with every passing year,. We still might be here when the 50th anniversary of Broken Flag rolls around..

See you in London.

The Sounds of American Doomsday Cults

The Sounds of American Doomsday Cults Volume 14

Faithways International CD.


The thing that amazes me about religion is that if there isn’t one suited to your specific needs you can always start your own. Like Joseph Smith, the founder of the Latter Days Saints who one day went for a walk in the woods and came across an angel who showed him some golden tablets with funny words and pictures written on them. He took these tablets home and used them as source material to write the book of Mormon. This he did by putting a stone in the bottom of his hat, and dictating what he saw in it to a third party. Then he upset some people and was put in prison where he died of gunshot wounds. And then theres Scientology; a money making machine founded by a humdrum Sci-fi writer, the Unification Church; Christianity and Korean folklore cobbled together  and lets not forget the Hare Krishna’s or as I like to call them ‘The Hinduism For Westerners Movement’. The list goes on. And, inevitably, on.

But its those far out fruitcakes that amuse and shock the most. Reverend Jim Jones and David Koresh [such a big fan of Onanism that he was dubbed by one critic as the ‘masturbating messiah’] should need no introduction at all but what about The Family [sex mad], The Solar Temple [baby killers awaiting alien abduction] and Pastor Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church who encourages his congregation to picket the funerals of American soldiers and whose hellfire preaching and strict interpretation of the Bible [that cobbled together, rewritten multi-translated tome of mass murder and begatting] has left most of America bemused and disgusted. And lets not forget sarin sprinkler Soko Ashara and his Supreme Truth religion, an outfit that managed to mix together Yoga, Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism and the writings of Nostradamus, Charles Bukowksi and Jilly Cooper [OK, I made the last two up].

The reason I’m reviewing this is because Seymour Glass sent it to me as part of a larger package containing the work of the Bren’t Lewiis Ensemble and the Glands of External Secretion. Whilst I cogitate on these I feel compelled to write about The Church Universal and Triumphant whose bizarre services are featured here. Firstly because I find religion fascinating and secondly because this is one of the most unbelievably weird recordings it has ever been my pleasure to sit and listen to. Its no surprise that their services circulated on bootleg tapes long before they became more easily available via Faithways.

Elizabeth Clare Prophet founded The Church Universal and Triumphant in 1975 as an outgrowth of a religion founded by her husband 17 years earlier. Wiki gives this description of the church’s beliefs; ‘The church's theology is a syncretic belief system, including elements of Buddhism, Christianity, esoteric mysticism, the paranormal and alchemy, with a belief in angels, elves, fairies, and other beings it calls elementals (or spirits of nature)’. Prophet predicted the outbreak of a nuclear war in the early 1990’s and encouraged her followers to build bomb shelters to survive the blast in their Montana settlement. When the big one failed to materialise she claimed that it was their prayers that had prevented it. There's lots of other shit too but of more interest to me [and I’m assuming Faithways International] is the way Prophet delivers her sermons and for the fact that they hated Rock Music. Really, really hated Rock Music. They blamed Rock Music for all life’s modern ills and went out of their way to rail against it at every given opportunity.

Prophet delivers her sermons in a speaking in tongues style that comes across more like a livestock auctioneer with a high nasal twang than preacher trying to get a message across. Its impressive, especially when the congregation joins in. On ‘Invocation For Judgement Against The Destruction of Rock Music’ her pastor reads out a list of rock bands, movies and TV channels all of which get the blame for getting the world in such a mess. Those named as being in league with Lucifer include Bananarama, Fleetwood Mac, The Thompson Twins, Band Aid [!?], Stevie Wonder, Diana Ross, Dean Martin, Olivia Newton John and the film Ghostbusters. The list isn’t exhaustive [obviously - wot no Black Sabbath, they’ll be sooooo upset] which is why we get the rejoinder ‘ and all individual groups or individual artist who vibrate in consonance with them’. There then follows a 27 minute decree that's one of the biggest mindfucks you’re ever likely to hear. Intense polyphonic speaking in tongues with Prophet and her pastor dropping out on occasion leaving the eerie sound of the congregation going for it on their own. Certainly one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever heard and all the more reason to get interested in religion … so long as you don’t go so far as believing any of it that is.

Midwich - Skull Mask

Midwich & The Skull Mask
3” CDR. 50 copies.

Midwich - Running Repairs
Sriate Cortex. s.c.46. CDR. 60 copies.



Having succumbed to a variation of the dreaded Turkish Goat Flu I’ve been away from the keys of late. Three weeks of fluctuating body temperatures coupled to a cough that had me rattling to the core, both hands clasped firmly about the upper thighs in support, left me in no mood for tackling the review pile. The review pile that has been building of late. The recent trip to Northumberland, where we spent mornings filling our lungs with fresh air in a bid to rid me of said malaise, was as usual a music free trip. Apart from the odd bit of Radio 3 or 4 in the background, music there was none, walking there was plenty.

Its been the official stance for quite some time now. Having spent 12 nights in a hotel in the middle of nowhere India listening to nothing but Putrefier and Ashtray Navigations for days on end I can honestly say that it just doesn't suit the travelers mood, not this one at any rate. Trying to cogitate on the inner goings on of the minds of certain noise and drone makers whilst being served tea by a turbaned waiter never really worked for me so I just gave it up as a bad job and came to realise that unless I was at home, in the comfort of my own Poang, keyboard, pen and paper at the ready, there just wasn’t any point.

Its not until I return home that I realise how much I do miss the review pile though.We got back yesterday and once the chores were out of the way I spent the next eight hours lost in a world of drone and noise. A world where 3” CDRs come with exhortations to distribute freely, a world where Broken Flag cassettes get the vinyl treatment, a world where people do extraordinary things with Nick Cave songs, a world where Gruenrekorder send me a release containing a meditative work composed on a mountain top sanctuary which had the entirely predictable effect of sending me into a deep and restful afternoon kip.

I’d had the 3” CDR Midwich/Skull Mask for a while before Turkish Goat Flu II hit but never got round to inflicting words upon it. When I returned there was another Midwich release lying on the doormat. I felt I could kill two birds with one stone and besides, I’m a Midwich fan and words tend to come easier when the work on offer is something I'm familiar with.

And then I played Running Repairs which is probably the most remarkable Midwich release to date. A tiny two minute segment of buried voices and howling wind is sandwiched between a slowly evolving granular melody and a single oscillating note both of which run to over twenty minutes.

Where are the dainty pulses and head bobbing melodies? Drifting pastel coloured bubbles there was none. Delicate, floating flowers of tranquility had disappeared to be replaced with harsh and grating drones the likes of which appear to be new pathways for Midwich to explore. Familiarity there was none.

The hardest track to get through on Running Repairs is Bosky. Bosky is 25 minutes of a note taken for a walk. A primitive industrial buzz that had me wondering if I’d fallen asleep and woken up instead to the Kleistwhar LP’s. I went back and back again and still couldn’t make my mind up as to whether this was stimulating or annoying. Its certainly hypnotic and it is drone but of the kind that only people on Largactil would appreciate.

The opener New Territories is equally as hypnotic but much easier on the ear. A controlled amount of background fuzz over which a rapid and urgent industrial rhythm slowly mutates along its length until it dies out in a helicopter lift off. Maybe the clue is in the title?

The two shorter Midwich tracks on the Skull Mask split lie in similar New Territories territory all of which leaves me wondering whether Midwich has been digging out his Broken Flag cassettes or whether he just fancied a meatier work out.

Skull Mask sound like a gang of John Fahey’s fighting over six out of tune Bazoukis in a Greek taverna whilst Midwich Rob drones in the background. This is the work of Miguel Pérez who I think hails from Mexico and is now part of the Rob Hayler/Midwich/Radio Free Midwich ‘Deranged Nodders Alliance’. You can join too but you have to be seen to be actively involved. Passing participation is OK I assume but getting your hand dirty is much more fun.

But this is what happens when you venture into the world of the ‘no audience underground’. The 3” CDR encourages duplication, distribution, expression and review. Each unit is unique. Something to be encouraged in a world where ‘stick it on Soundcloud and hope for the best’ is fast becoming the norm. The Striate Cortex packaging is a thing of hand made joy with hand splodged thick card outer and arty inner, printed CDR, OBI strip and four measly quid to boot. Most of this is available for download I assume but backing it up with hand made-ness makes these objects of desire and for someone whose been out of the loop for a while, items to be treasured and mulled over.



Midwich - www.radiofreemidwich.wordpress.com
Sriate Cortex - www.sriatecortex.wordpress.com
Skull Mask - www.oraclenetlabel.blogspot.co.uk