An occasional perambulation through several choice Chocolate Monk releases, especially those that have brought much joy to those of us living in the North of England during the latter part of that most hideous of years, 2020.
Food People - God With Stripes
Chocolate Monk 492
Like a woodland get-together where everybody brought along an instrument or something they could make a sound with and they all turned up with their flutes and their guitars and things you wave about in the wind to make a noise with and toy xylophones and glass bottles half filled with stream water which they hit with sticks. And someone [who shall remain nameless] said ‘I want some electronic sounds in here because I’ve been listening to Noize Music’, so someone said ‘OK but how are we going to do that when were in the middle of a wood clever dick? And someone said ‘easy, because my backpack is full of PP9 batteries, which is why I’m having difficulty placing my feet’. So they set up an improv gig in the middle of a wood and theres some squeaky feedback and general malarky of a noise type nature and someone said ‘I’ve heard of field recordings so lets do some of those’ so they all went and recorded some fields. Which is just fine with me because I’ve had to walk through a field to get here. So while we’re recording you play something nice on your acoustic guitar while I play this cassette tape of traffic noise on my Dictaphone. ‘Oh, you’ve got a shortwave radio. Fantastic! Can you get a Russian station on it? Fuck! You can! The flute. Where’s the flute? I NEED THE FLUTE. We need the flute. This is so urgent. Oh sweet baby Jesus. I knew this would work. A recorder?! Where did Jasmine go with the sodding flute? I’m not giving in on this. ‘She said she was busting so she’s gone to find a bush’. Anybody here like drone? All of you? Thats one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Andy? No? Terry Riley then. We’ve all heard of Terry Riley. Lets take it from there because I don’t know about you but I’m getting ever so slightly hungry and its five miles to the nearest pub. So its long draws across the violin strings and …. perfect. Could do with some of that weird stuff in here to help it along. Here. No, here. Never mind, you missed your chance, we’ve moved on now. Don’t go all sulky on me, it’ll brush off when its dried. This was your idea as much as everybody else’s remember. I think we can get this edited down to about forty five minutes of workable stuff here. What do you think? I’ll send it to Nyoukis at Chocolate Monk. Go down a storm. What do you mean its raining? Oh for fucks sakes, its just a few spots, we’re under a tree anyway, you’re not going to melt. Amanda when we get back can you overdub some vocals? Smashing. Just you talking will do fine. Put them through some effects to make it sound like you’re coming up through the leaves. Beats? Who said beats? No. Never. We had rhythm last time and look where it got us. Stephanie had to leave after that. Its not been the same since. No, no, I’m adamant on this. It’ll spoil the whole feel of it. You want a vote on it? OK. One, two, three, four, five … it would seem I’m outvoted. So be it. Have your beats. Just let it be noted in the minutes that I’m totally against beats. Its the John Cage in me. Has Alan gone too?
Cabin Fever Cleansed My Mind - Volumes 1 & 2
Chocolate Monk 483/484
Seeing as how Boris has told us to go inside and not come out until next year it seems a good time to remind you that Chocolate Monk have provided us with not one but two Cabin Fever Cleansed My Mind releases. They may be sold out [as is the above] but you need to be aware of these things. Containing as they do the works of those who would otherwise be creating music anyway only without the option of doing it live or in other peoples houses, studios, gig space or forest clearing unless its in a group of six or less or someone you’re in a bubble with. I think.
Durling lockdown [past, present and probably future] many turned to online gigging via the wonders of Zoom or Skype as a way to keep the masses entertained and as a way of keeping it interesting. Some of which I watched in a series of half drunken blurs, the outside world forgotten for the moment, people bent in to strange body shapes making noises, records spinning in piles, neck creaking camera angles, gargles and cassette tape sprawled across living room floors, songs sung through the gaps in a Bontempi keyboard while someone holds down all the keys using two hands. On Volume One this is where Sophie Cooper’s synth blurt ur-pop sits cheek by jowl with Toshiji Mikawa’s fractured Japanese noises, where the Glands of Eternal Secretion speak of ‘silver prongs’ and Cody Brandt has a gas leak. I’m currently grooving to the the delights of Fatty Jubbo who along with Dylan Nyoukis took what was then an hour of government sanctioned exercise and during it recorded themselves puffing and panting up the only hill in Brighton, all while observing the necessary two meter social distancing rule. Who could resist the squealing charms of Giblet Gusset? A name to savour and feedback to wallow in, all while watching the daily press briefing with the sound down.
Volume Two has the teeth grindingly painful cacophonous honk of Neil Campbell & Sticky Foster who between them must be responsible for no small amount of falling plaster moldings and dropped dado rails and before that some glorious drone courtesy of those wonderful Food People. Ogrob hit the spot with shortwave, insect, frog gubbins while Sharon Gal weaves a deranged shamanic ritual built from looped sample vocals and canned laughter thats either a Swedish comedy show gone wrong [they must exist I suppose] or a Kumul’s night out in Port Morseby. Leif Elggren gives us six minutes of baby noises coming in through a baby monitor, six minutes of a baby with a wet arse letting its parents know that it needs changing. Are baby monitors 5G?
Astro - Adversity and Marginalization
Chocolate Monk 494.
Noise baby. You know what Noise is right? Well, this is Astro baby. Japanese Noise. Virtual Japanese Noise nobility guvnor. We are not worthy. Fly all the way to Japan to pay homage, buy Boss hot coffee in a tine from a vending machine, place on doorstep of Hiroshi Hasegawa, walk away slowly without turning around, after ten paces bend from waist to 90 degree angle, fly back to England, carry on life. Its been a while since I listened to any Astro. Its been a while since I’ve listened to any flat out ball scrunching noise come to that. So to set myself up with fifty minutes and three tracks of Astro is a jolt to the system, like plugging yourself in to the mains to get a belt off the leccy just for the sheer hell of it. About halfway through the last of the three the noise dissipates in to a fire cracker of comm chatter, lost voices and general destruction and when it hits back, when it blows back, you hit the volume and revel in those big crunchy ultra bass vibes. Altogether now, take me back to dear old Japan, drop me on the train for Shibuya town ….
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