SSPONNGG 23

SSPONNGG 23
Various media.

Reviews of Dr. Steg related work on this blog usually appear after the scans but seeing as there’s about 50 of Steg’s latest offering to look at I thought it best to do the writing bit first. This leaves you to then savour the long scroll down to the bottom of the page without due let or hindrance.

The story so far: Dr Steg has decided to ditch his magazine/mail art project SPON and replace it with SSPONNGG [or various spellings thereof]. SSPONNNGG is whatever Dr. Steg says it is. Here its two A4 zines and in what must be seen to be one of the most over the top SSSPOONNGGG/SPON releases yet: a handmade slipcase containing around 15 A5 zines, various booklets, original artworks, a button badge featuring the band TIRIKILATOPS, a CD of the band TIRIKILATOPS [that refuses to play], an 11 minute DVD collaboration with Andy Paciorek that showcases some of their artwork and has music by Stan Batcow and some hand made postcards. The slipcase itself appears to be covered in lumps of dried meat, tile spacers and other bits of plastic detritus. This has then been liberally daubed in red paint [which was still a bit wet and had the odor of wet paint when it arrived. Dr. Steg moves quickly]. All of this is mind boggling enough as it is and then you look at those tiny booklets and you notice that they are all originals, all of them drawn in Steg’s own spidery hand with a drawing pen whose diameter must be measured in microns. I was in awe.

And still am. There’s no point trying to make any sense of this. It would take a Michael Collins or an Andrew Graham-Dixon or a Brian Sewell to do it justice and wouldn’t you just love to see Brian Sewell take his mind to this lot. For now let us all cast our gaze Steg-ward and hope that the next Ceramic Hob’s single isn’t too far away.




http://www.worldofsteg.co.uk/

The Thomas Family and Daniel Thomas

The Thomas Family - Dub Variations
Crow Versus Crow. CVC001. CD
100 Copies.

Daniel Thomas - Visitors
Cherry Row. CDR006. CDR




A frosty Saturday afternoon and nothing but the sound of hot coals settling in the grate as the world does its Christmas shopping. An ideal moment to immerse myself once more in what is now commonly called 'Extraction Music'. We can call it little else now. The phrase fits. The Bearded Wonder has cast his spell. Extraction it is.

But first you need silence. Our contemplative moments are few and far between, unless you’re a Quaker or a Buddhist or the denizen of some monastic place of worship that is. Sitting in silence is something so few of us do. Industries have been created to ensure that silence is an enemy. Advertising is the biggest culprit. The world is full of advertising and its hard to ignore. The World Wide Web is nothing but adverts held together by porn, drivel and pet pictures. Silence is becoming a rarity.

So I sit in a warm room with my feet up and the rather lovely first ever Crow Versus Crow release in my hands. What better way to break the silence. I will listen to this and Daniel Thomas’ new Cherry Row recording and that will be it for today I will limit myself to two releases. Its what I’m calling ‘Deliberately Restricted Listening’. Why not restrict yourself to one or two works a day? Like you would say a film or a visit to an art gallery. Why sate when you can savor? Why listen to things at random? What are you doing, filling a void? Are you scared of the silence? Are you one of those people who cant bear silence? Have you tried silence lately? Silence will help you think. Its not scary. You should try it.

Instead of listening to music in a random fashion with little in the way of thought or premeditation, choose to listen to one particular piece and then nothing else. Think about what you want to listen to, give it some thought and when you do play it sit and listen to it all the way through with as little distraction as possible. Make time for it.

This idea came to me earlier this week when for the first time I sat and listened to the entirety of Beethoven's Missa Solemnis. Arguably his greatest work, this 90 minute mass for 260 strong choir, 80 piece orchestra and four soloists opens with, for my money, the kind of music capable of turning atheists into deists [perhaps part of the intention]. But after that first ten minutes I kind of drift off and wonder what that is over there and wheres my wallet and have I paid this and that. Never in years of listening to this work have I sat and listened to it in its entirety. Could this composition, which Beethoven worked on and worried over for four years of his life [and this is as musical genius we're talking about here not some neurotic rock star with an ego problem and a cooing staff of fawning arselickers trying to coax a fourth album out of him], could this man have composed a work that captivates audiences the world over and me just the first ten minutes? So I sat and listened to it. All 90 minutes of it and its true beauty became apparent. It still didn’t make me believe in God, but for 90 minutes I was transfixed. I have learnt to sit still and listen. Its taken me a while to get here but now that I am there’s no going back.

I saw Daniel and Dave Thomas [forever to be followed by the words ‘no relation’] separated by the middle of a table at the Wharf Chambers last week. As Hagman they were first on in a series of bands that pushed the lower end of the PA and in Midwich saw Rob Hayler reach a peak of such joyous head bobbing proportions that I had to fight the urge to rush over and give him a big ‘I’m Happy For You’ manly hug at its conclusion. It was another good WC night.

The Thomas Family’s Dub Variations gathers together David’s solo modular synth work with Daniel’s field recordings in three pieces that were the results of recordings made a couple of years back. Its a fine fit with the twittering Honk Kong wildlife [both human and birdlike] proving to be the perfect accompaniment to standout track ‘III’, a 17 minute smooth ride of synth pulse and drone with the odd enthusiastic TG bass splat for company. The way that ‘III’ moves from from random key prod into an urban ritualistic analogue nod fest provides us with the key piece here. Think Pink Floyd’s One of These Days for the Extraction generation with added exotic wildlife. ‘I’ and ‘II’ are much quieter affairs. Here we have desert dust storms, the ubiquitous hum of distant traffic, station announcements, minimalist explorations into the corners of empty factories where the light rarely reaches, bleak affairs made for near silence.
 
On ‘Visitors’ Daniel Thomas moves away from the Schulze like pulses of this years earlier Cherry Row outing ‘Enemy Territory’ and into Sci-Fi territory with a kick off track that involves movie samples [‘Daniel, somethings happening!’] which in lesser hands could have emerged a tad Orb-esque but no. From there on in things get murky with helicopter rotor blades, synth burble and a series of sparse recordings that only emerge from the gloom when a melody of sorts appears on track five. Track six which at 17 minutes is easily the longest is the beating heart of the thing and like the last track on Dub Variations the reason you need to get this.

It would appear that there is no limit to the permutations available to those Leeds residents partaking in Extraction, to list those permutations would ensure a long scroll down this page. Now is not the time. The Thomas Family is but another welcome addition as is Crow Versus Crow whose Sowerby Bridge base gives us another pin on the vibrant West Yorkshire electronics map. Smashing cover work too, printed card, simple but effective. Looks nice in front of the fire. Not too close now. 





Crow Versus Crow

Cherry Row

Smegma, Runzelstirn & Gurgelstock, Snotnosed, Skaters, Vibracathedral Orchestra, Matthew Bower [and probably a few others]. Termite Club. Royal Park Cellars, Leeds 25th April 2006

[even more from the archives]


Hardly has my liver had a decent rest than its back to Leeds to see what state the Undermeister’s shirt is in. The beard is longer, the eyes are redder but the shirt’s still in the same state it was in Glasgow four days earlier. Its good to know you can rely on some things in life. At least he’s smiling, as is main Termite man Mike Dando, the venue is full.

A week earlier I’d seen him taking money at the door of a KK Null/Zev gig at the Brudenell and I almost felt like giving him the Samaritans number. Punters were thin on the ground. The bar and gate ticks on the paying in sheet wouldn’t cover the taxi fare home. It was a depressing sight. But what a difference a few weeks make.  The punters of Leeds have come out in force to sit in a smoky cellar bar and see Runzelstirn & Gurgelstock for the first time in ten years and Smegma for the first time in ever. They’ve also come to watch a football match in the upstairs bar which seems to freak out some of the Americans in the party and isn’t that a Mosque over there? Some things take a little explaining. But at least the drone supergroup amalgam that’s filling the tiny stage don’t need any explaining. The bobbing heads and bow driven electric guitars compete with the tribal drums and effect boxes and its kind of messy and hairy and all over the shop but at least they enjoyed themselves and didn’t carry on for two hours which, if reports are to believed, is the length of time they managed to keep it up for in a private residence the previous evening.

Snotnosed are the light entertainment of the evening. Speeding off his tits the big bald fella’s Hanatarash tribute band begins by destroying a galvanized steel bin using a sledgehammer, then a machete and then his bare hands. He breaks records over his head, dons a Peter Sutcliffe mask [au natural] and throws himself onto the floor screaming and waling and thrashing about like a kid with a Ritalin deficiency. His accomplice sits behind some kind of gadget chain smoking roll ups and looking on like he’s seen it all before. The debris he’s managed to scatter is impressive as are the beads of sweat running all over his cue ball noggin. Performance and exercise. Nice touch. This turns out to be the final Snotnosed gig ever.

Runzelstirn & Gurgelstock bemuse, delight and outrage the Leeds audience with the same show as in Edinburgh. One punter is so freaked by having Joke’s pig mask shoved in his face that he actually pushes him away. He comes and stares at me but I’ve been drinking in Batley and am not scared.

For one number Smegma will play with Herb Diamante. Herb, who I have to admit has passed me by, turns out to be the alter ego of John Godbert an artist and artiste from Stan Laurel country. And after an opening spell in which Smegma really rock the boards with a killer ten minutes noise set, Herb joins in singing in a really fine deep voice. His green suit and red wig mis-match imperfectly his wing backed shades. He fits in well with the Smegma team. I don’t recognize the song but it’s a good one for Herb’s voice and after it’s finished everybody is slapping each other on the back and shaking hands. The audience are whooping and applauding like they’ve not been let out for six months. Breaking their set up into three separate parts Smegma roll about everywhere from loose fifties rock to avant garde bells and tinkles. When voices appear from the crackles on old records everyone backs off to listen intently. Guitars are played with circuit boards, toy keyboards are plugged in, rubber bands are stretched across mouths, trombones, clockwork toys, I’ve never seen a band go through as many instruments. Theremin like structures emit strange bubbles and then we’re off again with a Cramps like stomp.

That Smegma seem genuinely happy to be on these shores only adds to the fun element of the night. Everybody seems to be having a great time; audience, bands and even Steve Underwood who’s sold many a ticket and sold lots of merchandise. The sooner Smegma and R&G return the better.

Sudden Infant/Alan Tomlinson/MK9/Sunroof!/Corsano-Flower Duo. Final night of the 2005 Termite Festival - Sunday November 27, 2005

[From the archives]




Noise gigs don’t normally take place in swanky venues. Most noise gigs I attended in this country take place in smoky rooms above pubs, at the back of pubs, in the cellars of pubs.

The final night of this years Termite Festival was no exception. So, jammed in next to someone chain smoking a mixture of dried privet leaves and bindweed your hearing takes a battering and your glass runs dry and then you realize that the bars packed and its going to be twenty quid in a taxi home and tinnitus for the rest of the week – and you keep coming back because there’s nothing else quite like it.

These smoky rooms throw up some memorable evenings. Once again its praise be to the Termite Club for putting on four nights of eclectic entertainment - after last years debacle of having almost no festival at all [due to circumstances beyond their control] this years ran to four nights to make up for it. Alas, a huge bout of apathy on my part [and the fact that funds were at an all time low] meant that your roving reporter could only make it to this the last night.

The Cardigan Arms is the prefect template of how Leeds Tetley pubs used to be; rooms tucked away in every corner, lots of wood, etched glass and marble floor tiles, a big enough bar that you can shout over to your friends in the next room, a bog you could have a gig in [take note Sudden Infant] and an upstairs room that you locate via a windy staircase that has a door with a glass window in it that says ‘Harmonium Room’.

The Harmonium Room is host first to Sudden Infant and its originator Joke Lanz. I saw Sudden Infant earlier in the year at the Entr’acte gig in London and he was stunning. With a contact mic in the palm of each hand he held his hands to his throat and let rip primal screams – later in his set he held his hands on other people’s throats picking up pulses and gulps. Tonight he’ll be let down by equipment failure when half the PA refuses to work but despite it all he still gives a stellar performance of vocal angst before a decent sized appreciative crowd. Silence, church bells, brief blasts of industrial pounding, screams, Lanz prowls his territory rubbing his contact mic’d hands up and down his legs and over his head, producing scarred and fractured templates on which to impale yourself. Dangerous bursts of frenzy juxtapose with stand stock still do nothingness. An impressive performer who in conjunction with his Schimpfluch Gruppe compatriots produces some of the most stimulating, fresh and original sounds to be found.

Trombone players are usually good entertainment and Alan Tomlinson is no exception. Watching a short bloke with a beer belly roll his sleeves up, sweat buckets whilst taking his trombone apart and put it back together again whilst making all kind of noises that you thought couldn’t come out of a trombone in the first place, is a good enough reason to turn up next time he’s on the bill. Tomlinson has studied the trombone for years and I dare say he could hold his own in Kenny Balls Jazz Men but tonight he strips down his instrument rebuilds it, closes doors with it, sticks stuff down the end of it and along the way produces everything from low end buzzes to twittering coughs and tweets. Sandwiched between Sudden Infant and MK9 he’s the lighter side of tonight’s show and the nearest thing we’ll get to a laugh.

I miss half of MK9’s set due to bar congestion and get back to find members of the audience sitting in the half of the room sectioned off for the artists with the letters ‘A’ and ‘B’ stuck to them. MK9 is Michael Nine, founder of the legendary power electronics outfit Death Squad. Who I caught the last time they were in Leeds when they scared the shit out of everybody with a spot on Gulf War tirade. Tonight he’s barking into a megaphone to a backtrack of what sounds like overlapping military airwaves chatter. He stops his rant to let the back track build and pulls ‘A’s’ and ‘B’s’ off people [then making them leave their spot] but seeing as how his rants are indecipherable [to me at least] and the A & B thing makes no sense to me either it’s a cold performance lacking in the energy of his earlier work.

Matthew Bower gives us twenty minutes or so of screeching feedback [which is also blighted by equipment failure] before the highlight of the night take up their cudgels. Chris Corsano [Six Organs of Admittance, Sunburned Hand of the Man] on drums and Mick Flower [Vibracathedral Orchestra] at first on some kind of Indian dulcimer and then on electric guitar build some head spinning walls of eastern tinged drone fuzz. Dunno if it’s the first time these guys have played together but should they get together regular enough they’ll build up a decent following. Any live product resulting from this all too short set should be snapped up without hesitation. Maybe they’ll have thought a name up for themselves by then too. The Toddmeitser nods his approval and announces that it’s the best thing of the weekend which makes me feel a little better for having missed the previous three nights.