The Lowest Forms of Music

The Lowest Forms of Music

Beaconsfield Art Centre. London. 22,23,24th October 2010

Hijokaidan

The Tenses

Dinosaurs with Horns

Raionbashi & Kutzelina

Bill Kouligas & Joseph Hammer

AIRWAY

Incapacitants

John Duncan

Extended Organ

Mark Durgan with Spoils and Relics

Smegma

Le Forte Four

Tom Recchion

Morphogenesis

I’m stood next to Ace Farren Ford looking at old LAFMS photos and theres one of the original Poo Bah Record shop. Ace cocks his head and with a nostalgic sigh in his voice says ‘yup, thats where it all started I guess’.

From a record store sandwiched between a sandwich shop and a gay porno theatre in a sleazy part of L.A. in the early 70’s to Lambeth in South London circa 2010 and Japanese noise nutters HIjokaidan as weekend headliners. For some mad reason it all makes sense.

At a time when the hippie dream was souring by the minute the Los Angeles Free Music Society took their cue from the likes of Beefheart and Zappa and began making music that was very much their own. With a freeform spirit in their hearts they put out records that virtually no one bought, made magazines that virtually no one read and took to the streets to play gigs. That freeform spirit became a spark though. A tiny spark that produced the flames which years down the line lit fires that amongst other things would blossom into the Japanese noise scene and would eventually spawn what became known as New Weird America. From small record stores does mighty influence spring.

So, to the Beaconsfield. Its not often you go to a three day event and see all the artists involved but with a line-up as strong as that then it would be plain stupid not to. I’ve been to plenty of three day [and four] day events of this kind and when you get into an easy half drunk conversation with someone you haven’t met for a year or so then its easy to give the next act a miss knowing that you’ll probably catch them somewhere down the line sooner or later. But Hijokaidan? How many times have they played the UK recently? And Incapacitants with the original line up? And Paul McCarthy and Tom Recchion and Extended Organ and John Duncan and The Tenses and fucking AIRWAY? Jesus, you’d have to be some kind of retard to miss any of those just because someone you haven't seen for a year is offering you another cigarette and the chance of a beer because the bars quiet. And thats what happened. Every time word got out that it was time for the next act we all made a bee line for the stage and listened and cheered and walked out with smiles as wide as our faces.

This one had been building for quite some time - two years in the planning. An aching ball sack and sleepless nights for some but for us lucky punters a chance to see why The Los Angeles Free Music Society are so influential. It was a total sell out. All three nights. The PA was perfect. The venue, a bricked archway under the Waterloo line was just the right size. The beer was cold and the faces all friendly. There was even a German bar within spitting distance that served as both a pre gig watering hole and once the final curtain fell a post gig wind down spot.

It started in the German bar on Friday afternoon and then to the venue where a feeding frenzy was taking place at the merch stall. I saw Underwood and he was smiling. It had all gone to plan. The venue didn’t sink. Flights had landed on time and the venue wasn’t double booked.

Morphogenesis began proceedings which means we got to see Adam Bohman wandering around with his Tesco bag full of detritus. Tiny plates of metal get sawed, things got twanged, maybe a pot plant got wired into something. It was hard to tell. Tom Recchion played to a film he made with John Duncan which included some ferocious drum samples that built into mini storms of chaos. Le Forte Four played spazz ur-punk with added toy ray gun noise and managed to half clear the space but those in the know knew that Japanese Super Heroes was coming and when it did I sang along in my head and when the lights went up there was Rock ‘n’ Roll Jackie with an equally, if not bigger shit eating grin than mine, giving me a double double thumbs up. It was one of those ‘you had to be there’ moments. Smegma rounded off Friday and managed to earn themselves a genuine encore, not a hide behind the curtain for five seconds they know we’re coming back encore but a genuine roaring cheering hand clapping get your fucking arses back out here we waited a long time for this moment encore. Vetza sang like a siren. Ace Farren Ford blew chunks out of his pipe and the drums [who was the drummer?], battered to bits were the drums. Whipping all the way from twang 50’s rock to noise blurts to ethereal where did all the sound go moments and back to scratchy old records they flew as smoothly as they always do. It was beautiful.

Saturday night past by in an alcoholic blur. That German bar came in handy at three in the afternoon as I was thirsty after a lamb curry at the India Club and I was just getting into my stride when there’s a dash to see Mark Durgan with Spoils and Relics who I couldn’t see but it didn’t matter. They played on the floor. I could see the tops of heads. Electro-acoustic mutterings and clicks. Sublime. Extended Organ I’ve waited years to see, their improv vocal baby like moans and keyboard prods, string drangs [and if you haven’t got their CD on Birdman then your record collection is not complete]. Worth catching so at to see Paul McCarthy except I didn’t see that much of him. Small stage y’see. Doesn’t matter to me. I’d rather sacrifice poor viewing to a good PA. Imagine having the best view and the sound coming out of a blown PA the size of two Cornflakes boxes. These guys live for clear sounds. If it was McCarthy doing the vocals his next beer’s on me. Then came John Duncan who played and mixed CD’s from the mixing desk into a swirling panned PA system whilst we all talked about his corpse exploits in the bar afterward. Some people complained that they never cranked the PA for Incapacitants and they were right. All noise bands need volume to make an impact and it was a crying shame that they never got it. They were the first band to test the immaculate PA system but they suffered because of it. Still, seeing Mikawa and Kosakai jerk like epileptics is still a sight to be treasured. And then it was the much anticipated AIRWAY set. It was primitive pummel from start to finish with wailing everythings but by then the German beer had taken its toll on my sensory orbits and I stumbled out of the venue and back into the German bar to finish myself off. I could now walk between the German bar and the venue with my eyes shut.

Sunday and my sensitive brain has taken a hammering. So what I need is some smooth loops and analogue deliberations which is where Bill Kouligas and Joseph Hammer come in. Another collaboration that worked well. Saw Hammer at last years Colour Out of Space and he went on for what seemed like an age but here, with about thirty minutes to get it all in, it worked a treat. I managed to find myself at the front of the stage [almost] for Raionbashi and Kutzelina whose noise drone ritual included the elaborate washing of hands and face each time nailing the used towel to bits of wood. A low dog like growl slowly increased in volume until a whistle blow and then a double reading of Germanic text [which seemed to amuse the German speaking members of the audience but of which the only words I could detect was ‘salt and pepper’ showing just how shit my German is]. Then came the yodeling from the lovely Kutzelina and short stabs of painful static from Raionbashi the whole while the thing building into a pressure cooker atmosphere until they cut it dead.

And then some LAFMS Tom Fuckery, first with Dinosaur With Horns which I think was just Rick Potts and then The Tenses, a Smegma side project with Ju Suk Reete Meate and Rock ‘n’ Roll Jackie whose sound is a little like a stripped down Smegma with soaring tremolo guitar, run off groove static and tiny clockwork toys held aloft in one hand just that one sound playing at its conclusion. Then the appearance of Hijokaidan. After five minutes of what appeared to be them tuning up [like uh … ] main-man Jojo Hiroshige, with a tightly wound skull cap stuck to his head and Gibson SG strung around his neck pushed the button and filled the space with wall shuddering noise. With Junko [the Sheila of Shriek, the Sultana of Scream] yelping away like a hyperactive puppy with its paw trapped and Incaps Kosakai doing the electronics they soon managed to whip things up into a shit-storm of mayhem. Jojo began the mock whipping of the audience with his guitar, the drummer sounded like he’d got four arms, mic stands got chucked into the audience, bodies got thrust into the air [crowd surfing - I fear for their heads if they get dropped - me being a sensitive, caring type] Jojo actually handed his guitar to the audience and fought like buggery to get it back again, Junko’s yelping seemed to pierce my eardrums. It all sounded totally insane. The PA had done its job at last and then, for the second time in two nights, Kosakai dived headfirst into the crowd. Ta-da.

Afterwards, outside, we head for the German bar. It’s closed. 11.30 on a Sunday night in the capital and we cant get a drink. As usual I never did get to say my goodbyes, just shuffled off to the hotel with the Thames on my left and happy memories in my head.

On the final leg of my return home I’m on the bus from Leeds to Cleck and to drown out the sound of the school kids on half term chaos I turn on my mp3 player and turn up the volume and by sheer chance Japanese Super Heroes comes on and I was back watching Le Forte Four in that bricked archway in Lambeth with Jackie giving us all the double thumbs up and it all seemed so perfect. It’s a beautiful sunny Autumnal day and I’m warmed by the sun glaring in through the windows and the thoughts of the weekend just gone and I’m thanking all those involved in getting this on because it has truly been a special weekend. The likes of which we may never see again.

1 - Poo Bah Records

2- Ace in Poo Bah

3 - Flip top at Beaconsfield

4 - Exhibition space at Beaconsfield

5 - Raionbashi & Kutzelina ritual washing bowl.

Deepkis720/Mothers of the Third Reich

Deepkiss720/Little Creatures

Midori CDR.

33 copies.

Mothers Of The Third Reich

C90. No info.

When I arrive in London tomorrow I shall head straight to my hotel and when entering my room I shall run a bath and throw all the freebie soaps in it and have a good soak. Having already reccied the Beaconsfield Art Centre I know that there is a pub selling German beers not but a half mile from its front door and it’s to there that I shall repair for a few pre-gig snorters and maybe, if hunger gets the best of me, a currywurst.

The tension is building in the run up to the Lowest Forms of Music weekend. A tension thats almost tangible. I feel the internet crackling with anticipated vibes as bags are packed and last minute checks are made by people flying in from America, Japan and Europe. Its fair to say that this coming weekend could see the most memorable noise related event this century has ever seen eclipsing even the four night 2007 No Fun Fest. The vibes are just right. A three day love-in of all things Los Angeles Free Music Society. The first on these shores. A veritable cornucopia of Japanese noise acolytes, American weird and European sensible [well, almost I suppose]. This could be the only chance we ever get to see The Incapacitants and Hijokaidan on the same bill in Europe, in England even. And then there’s Airway, Smegma, Raionbashi, Tom Recchion, La Forte Four, Extended Organ, Bill Kouligas, John Duncan, John Wiese and and and too many to mention but lets not forget the Durgmeister who I haven’t seen for nearly a year but who I hope is still sporting that fine fine face-full of fuzz.

Jase Williams will also be there. He’s easy to spot, a 6’ 7” Ben Gunn [unless he’s gone and shaved it all off again] and will no doubt be kipping in his car outside the venue as a cash saving measure. Jase’s contribution to the UK noise scene may be small when looked at in terms of released output but thats no reflection on his influence and input. Those few releases would suggest the mind of a man for whom side long tranches of noise aren’t the excuse for periods of reflection but a chance to wreak havoc with your ears. With his long running solo project Deepkiss720 Jase has managed to create a monster that makes noise that is genuinely unlistenable and I mean that in the most respectful of ways. Its not everybody who can put something into the noise trough that is so totally off centre as to be totally off whatever scale it is you want to measure it by. He doesn’t make bad noise in an amateurish way but bad noise in a professional way, a way that can truly disfigure. I’ve seen him play plenty of times and each time its been a hands over the ears, run away quickly type of experience. I reckon its the kind of response he would appreciate. Take the only Deepkiss720 LP to date; the Harbinger released Pace X Friction, a hyper active teenagers cassette collection chopped up into a thousand bits and glued back together randomly. Coming from somebody who’s spent a lot of time in the same room as Andy Bolus its probably the only result you could expect. Switching between chopped up drum and bass, noise blasts, porn samples and oddments pulled from christ knows where Pace X Friction is an ugly sister of a record.

So what to make of a postal collaboration between DK720 and Little Creatures? I received this many months ago and was told to save it for the bottom of the review pile. Suggesting that I may not like it and that it was an off the cuff release meant only for the ears of the desperate. After I’d played it once and my worst fears were becoming reality. The scribbled on CDR didn’t help, plenty similarly adorned releases have seen their short lives end in an airborne bin-ward arc and then there was the Gothic script and black magic song titles and the general all round feel of an off the cuff release meant only for the ears of the desperate. But I felt that there was more here than what was first apparent and subsequent listens have proved me right. Ignore the one perfunctory noise track which, as good as it sounds, seems unnecessary here because underneath lies a pretty good exploratory album. Listening in a more relaxed manner I detected much that is good amongst the immediately mundane; a nine minute track of Arctic desolation with randomly struck piano keys, shortwave crackle coupled to reversed monks plainsong, spazmo glitch electronics and Smegma style turntable-ism. Separating who did what and where it all ended up is an impossible task but i feel that these two were meant for each other. I’ve no idea who Little Creature is but he/she/them have managed to do the impossible and calm down the Ritalin deficient DK720.

Perhaps Jase’s work is more aptly summed up with his recent project ‘Mothers Of The Third Reich’. Joining forces with a drummer, Jase belts ideas out of an electric guitar, a clarinet [I think?] and various noise boxes creating something that may become the UK’s three legged dog version of Fushitusha. A homemade, spray-painted cassette contained various live outings [and no doubt some studio rumblings which were of course incredibly noisy but you’ve just got to get your head around these things. Immersing yourself into Jase’s world is never going to be an easy one and it isn’t a job for the faint hearted. So I persevere and somewhere along the line I feel that I may be making some kind of contact. The rasping, farting sounds of an overloaded sub woofer somewhere on that cassette sounded to me like the dying moans of an aging elephant. I was touched. Right there. It was like Coltrane coming at me at 20 hertz. Some kind of celestial connection was made and I was transported. Its what noise music is all about and I believe Jase has what it takes. Whatever it is. That first listen is never easy though, you have to persevere. Just like Jase.

Contact

http://www.midorirecords.net/

http://www.myspace.com/deepkiss720

MOTTR LIVE

Smegma

Smegma - Mirage

Important Records CD/LP

1973’s I.D. Art #2 comp contains a track called Potatoe War - a sub sixty second Smegma outing that features jaws harp pluck and a dumb hick vocal that wails ‘Ahh got mojo potatoes in mah pockets’ - and then somewhere along the line, a line that stretches almost forty years now they morphed into one of the most influential bands in D.I.Y, experimental improv, noise, call it what you want land. From songs about potatoes, banana breakfasts and blow job machines to London love-ins during the soon to be here Lowest Forms of Music fest. Almost forty years on the go, making some of the most incredible music on the planet and a week on Friday I shall see them tread the boards once again. A moment to be treasured.

Smegma’s appeal is that they manage to combine disparate musical sounds into something that is so uniquely their own. And the best bit is they’re probably all your favourite sounds too; 50’s guitar twang, noise dabbling, toy abuse, jazz improv, oscillations of otherworldliness and turntable manipulation - sometimes all within the space of one track. Smegma like hitting things, twanging things, twisting things, breaking things, spinning things, parping horns and bugles, theremins, tapes, bass guitars, drums, walls, floors, light fittings, pipes, musical boxes and cat litter [probably], and by experimenting and improvising with all of the above [and probably a lot more besides] they make music that puts the listener in a room where Mingus, Kagel and Link Wray are in a constant three way scuffle over a box of Porter Wagoner records. Or something like that. Smegma records are pretty hard to define anyway. It's like they defy you to categorise them. So if you put almost forty years of music-making in a jar, with forty years of shifting and evolving band membership, you get a kind of music that is truly inspirational but so far off the genre scale as to be uncategorizable. You could chuck them in with the noise makers and the experimenters and the improvisers, you could tar Smegma with any of those brushes, but the music they make is truly their own.

Mirage sees the return of several key members; Dennis Duck, Donkey Flybye, Ace Farren Ford, Rogue Liniki, Tom Recchion, Jozef Van Wissem, and Cody Brant, who along with main-man Ju Suk Reete Meate and Oblivia makes for one of the largest Smegma lineups for some time, and with several tracks being recorded in party mode at Smegma HQ you get that definite feel of a good time being had by all.

Of the six tracks available to me for review I got that same goose bump vibe as I get from any Smegma record. The title track is Richard Bishop meets Derek Bailey, coupled with some of what must be Tom Recchion’s ‘mystery sounds’, Oblivia’s scratchy records mutate into whistling and an eerie empty ballroom feel which eventually erupts into a chattering of zombie noise. When the discordant guitar returns you almost feel as if it's been scored. And then, like an exploding theatrical maroon, comes ‘F-85 Turbo Rocket’, two and a half minutes of doofus 50’s rockabilly twang with howling vocals, harmonica and Forbidden Planet effects. ‘Oh Yeh’ is a room full of people trying out all the toys in the toy shop: prodded piano keys, bells, swannee whistle [or the electronic variant thereof], a stiff door being forced open, deep bass notes, swirling, coins dropped into a dustbin lid, chatter, Wurlitzer organ, an out of tune harp, something that makes a whizzing sound and Cheerful Charlie Chester having his knackers twisted. All life is here. All in one track. The 50’s twang always gets me though. Those tracks lie in wait like highway robbers out to get your purse. The rest doesn’t disappoint either with the opening track, ‘World Of My Own’, kicking off with Oblivia spinning what sounds like a Doris Day 78 which gets tipped into a whorl of cacophony, which if it had mutated into Donna Summer's ‘I Feel Love’ wouldn’t have surprised me one bit, but it didn’t, instead it picks up steam and a steady drum beat. It then chugs off into the sunset with Dick Dale twanging away stood erect and grinning on the back seat of an open-topped Cadillac.

What proves to be the most intriguing track of all is the live take from 1974 which LP buyers won't get: ‘Quiet On The Set Rioux!’ is eight minutes of harmonium wheeze, horn parp, reed blast and piano bashing which given its year shows that Smegma were already drifting away from Potatoe Wars and into a world of pure experimentation and improvisation.

Just one final word: the CD carries two tracks that are not on the LP [‘Quiet On The Set Rioux!’ and ‘Oh Yeh’] and one track on the LP that's not on the CD [‘Very Good Advice’ - a spontaneous jam which sadly wasn’t available for review].

See you in London.

Contact

http://www.importantrecords.com/

Pumf

Godspunk Volume Nine - Various Artists

Pumf 672. Pumf CD and booklet. £5

Howl In The Typewriter - Judas Kiss [The Lost Songs]

Pumf 665. Pumf CDR. £4

Ray Reagan And The RayGuns

Pumf 651. Pumf CD. £5

There’s no getting away from the fact that Blackpool manages to house more than its fair share of nutters and I guess we can call Stan Batcow [or pStan as I think he likes to be known] one of them but in a nice self deprecating way of course and not a dangerous ring you up at 6am on a Sunday morning wanting to kill you kind of way. pStan has been steadily ejecting Pumf release from Pumf HQ for donkeys years and every now and then our courses collide and I actually get off on one of them. Most of these are by the Ceramic Hobs of course of which Stan has been a core member for the last 25 years until something snapped and their ways parted but the Godspunk’s are welcome and hidden within their myriad depths their usually lies the odd gem waiting to be discovered.

A cursory glance down the twenty two tracks of Godspunk 9 though finds me face to face once more with UNIT, a band that I seem to have some difficulty with. I thought I’d turned a corner with UNIT as in a previous Godspunk I vaguely remember burying the hatchet and coming out all in favour of their wonky jazz pop punk pap but once again that jarring mix of vibraphone, keyboard, sax, crap drummer with crap singer has returned to haunt me. I imagine them setting up their gear in a pub in Hendon on a wet Sunday afternoon in February, a pub peopled with disinterested punters deep into their cups brooding over a final pint before going home to a damp flat and an angry missus. Arguing over whose turn it is to get the drinks in and who’s having the best amp UNIT eventually announce their presence, skittle through ten numbers to desultory applause before piling into the back of their rusty N reg Transit only to get lost on the way home. I dare say that they’re a decent group of upstanding human beings with all the attributes that combine to make talking to them a positive social experience [their info page on the insert mentions the Angry Brigade and one of them is a spin bowler so all’s not lost] but as ever, I struggle with their music. Let us not dwell on such matters for too long though for merriment is to be had.

Godspunk’s are co-operative affairs whereby each contributor chips in a set amount of money which guarantees them a set number of tracks and a set number of copies in return. Its a win win situation as artists who may find the expense of releasing their own work on CD prohibitive are given exposure whilst finding themselves shoulder to shoulder with like minded musicians. You do get the odd sore thumb though and past comps have seen the inclusion of noise based artists who stick out like pervs in a playground but on the whole they work.

This issues outsider is The Death of the Enlightenment Project whose sub four minute ansaphone cum noise tilt sits easy on these ears but may not be as welcome to UNIT or Boxhead who’s lounge ethnic ambience appears from nowhere like the offspring of The Penguin Cafe Orchestra meets The Art of Noise. John Tree’s ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ is equally beguiling; a forties gas lamp crooner ballad that he somehow manages to manipulate into one of Satie’s Gymnopodie’s before morphing it back to its origins - eerie, unexpected and most welcome. Stan’s own project Howl in the Typewriter bookends things as is custom and then theres the usual suspects including The Taurus Board, Dimm D3ciple, The Shi-ites, Lenin’s Virulent Muscle and the Balkan ‘oiks amongst a handful of batty others. Its all harmless fun of course and I’m loathed to cast any of it in a bad light seeing as they all seem to be having such a good time but most of it is passes me by leaving nothing on the ears but a vague sense of having heard something wacky and amusing but not entirely lasting. Godspunk 9 is in need of a stand out track and the nearest it gets is John Tree. Where are The Las Vegas Mermaids when you need them? As ever, comes with a full colour booklet and lots of contact info.

Judas Kiss is a collection of Howl in the Typewriter recordings spanning 14 years. Most are culled from submissions to compilation’s that never got to see the light of day; the Vincent Price comp, the Boredoms comp and my favourite the concept album of silence to which Stan sent some silence titled ‘Uninspired’ only to see it returned seeing as it was the only submission outside of the label proprietors own. For the most part though Stan’s work with HITT spans a pop punk aesthetic mixed with synth wash, high end production, vocal samples ripped from Hollywood through to police radio all coupled to a jolly hey-nonny-no I’ve had three pints and I’m fresh aesthetic. I like it for so long and then it all feels as if your trapped in some relatives house at Christmas with your hyper ten year old cousin who wants you to play with his Tracey Island when all you want to do is nod off with the Radio Times over your head.

What I take to be one of Stan’s early bands is Ray Reagan and the RayGuns. After gathering dust in a box for over 25 years Stan dusted down the 16 track master baked it and transferred it to digital. The result is 11 tracks of what is quite clearly Stan and sadly, some rather mundane sing-a-long punky pop. Stan takes on vocals and guitar and smothers it all in his various incarnations of the above.

After these three releases I’m all Pumfed out but somehow I feel as if I’ve been strangely entertained.

Those Godspunkers in full:

Howl in the Typewriter,

the taurus board,

UNIT,

Laszlo Klemke,

Dimm D3ciple,

The Shi-ites

The Melodramatic Monkey

Balkan’oliks,

Boxhead,

John Tree

Lenin's Virulent Muscle

The Death of the Enlightenment Project

Seven Footsteps to Satan.

Contact:

www.pumf.net

Pumf Records

25 Ivy Avenue

Blackpool

FY4 3QF

The Ceramic Hobs

The Ceramic Hobs - OZ OZ Alice

ORB Editions LP040. CD

250 copies.

I was in Blackpool earlier this year. Its the most depressing place in England I can think of and yet the tourist board would have you believe its the nearest thing to a fun packed time you can have without breaking the law and maybe it is if your version of a fun packed time includes washing down pint after pint of overpriced lager in shit pubs. On a wet and windy day in July Blackpool felt about as welcoming as a damp slipper. Blackpool has pubs where people get stabbed just for something to do, it has a tacky fun fair and the bright lights that draw in the goggle eyed punters like zombies in a Romero film. Its a rip off dump masquerading as a fantastic fun filled bauble. It’s a cynical grockle trap. Its the place local comedian Les Dawson dubbed ‘The Vulgar Mistress’ and I hate every bit of it.

On a miserable Sunday the big pubs on the promenade had groups of desperate smoking drinkers outside all huddled together like penguins taking it in turns to face the brunt of the sleet. Odd shaped families with unruly kids dressed in recently bought leisure gear kicked balls about on a nearly deserted beach. The donkeys were nowhere to be seen. I was glad to get out of there after just a few hours but some people actually come here for a fortnight and boast that they enjoy themselves. You really should go.

The Ceramic Hobs are from Blackpool and some of the above may explain why their music is as twisted as it is. It may also explain why some of their number are well acquainted with the ins and outs of psychiatry. Under such circumstances its a wonder they actually make any music at all but when they do its a something rather special. Fluxing rock [maybe of the punk variety] with a kind of experimentalism that could only emerge from a stop/pause button on a radio cassette player it’s a world populated by the likes of Hindley and Brady, ELO, Toto, Deep Purple, 70’s confectionary commercials and local radio show phone in numpties. Some of it is played out to a background of a guitar soloing hacked out by someone who long ago sunk to his knees at the alter of Jimi Hendrix and stayed there ever since. There’s song structure and chugging chords but somehow the Hobs manage to chuck enough distortion and mayhem into it to twist it all into something that’s unlike anything else being recorded today. Its like having two stereos going at once at 1am after a night on the gravy. The Hobs are the crazy cousins of To Live And Shave in LA with Tom Smith played by a drunken Simon Morris slumped in the corner at chucking out time with his glasses hanging off his head and drool coming from the corner of his mouth - a Softy Walter on drugs made in bath tubs with a mind fine tuned to Whitehouse proportions. There really is no other band quite like them.

\There are nine tracks on OZ OZ Alice the ninth being a 35 minute segue of a previous OZ OZ Alice release [I think there was rumblings of there being a dozen OZ OZ’s before splitting the band up but I could be wrong] the previous eight are a mix of tracks that never appeared on OZ OZ 2 and 3 so this could be OZ OZ Alice 4. Nothing is ever straight forward. The rotating band membership confuse things further by adopting aliases that

would make them shoe-ins for Smegma call up - Larry Language, Kate Fear, Mr. Concrete Himself, Ging Shi-ite, Bong Ben and Ric O’Doom all lending a hand on this particular release.

Oz Oz Alice is a labyrinthine affair, as dense as a Pynchon novel and as flumoxing in parts so I feel a more detailed breakdown is required:

Irish Jew:

Starts with sample from ELO’s Mr Blue Sky before a chugging riff kicks in. Morris sings ‘I’m an Irish Jew whats it to you?’ with increasing ferocity. Wayward guitar can be heard throughout. Morris sings ‘This song is wrong’. Sample of a upper class British voice saying things like ‘where do I begin?’ Samples from 70’s confectionary advert for Cadburys Finger of Fudge.

He Thinks He Can Hear Voices:

Slow chug that contains a clip from Radio Lancashire featuring local DJ whose phone in guest fails to give the answer the question ‘Who wrote Mien Kampf’. This despite being given numerous clues - he eventually answers with Adolf Golf. May say something about people from Lancashire. Could be a song about drugs.

Bryn Alyn Ghoul Soil:

Fifty second track of things being knocked about with a barely audible monolgue.

Toto In Africa:

A song whose intro is so distorted it sounds like a record being played with a six inch nail. The Hobs are playing in the background coming in and out of focus to reveal possibly a live track. Theremins, driving beat, someone whose English isn’t his first language interviewing someone else with the same problem. Song eventually floats off on a cloud of one drum hits, roaring bass and that solo guitar over which you can hear someone playing the intro to Status Quo’s Pictures of Matchstick Men.

Colacurcio:

Shamanic noise wailings. Synth stabs. Distorts into a Clodagh Rogers song. Eventually collapses in on itself in a sea of distortion over a distant drum beat.

Fixated Threat Assessment Centre:

A submerged song fights to be heard over more distortion. Voices can be heard. Song emerges from distortion now and again. Slow tortured agony of vocals. Song appears to be slowed down in parts to make it appear as a funeral march which makes them sound like a doom metal band. Morris’ overriding monologue is long and bitter [the tattooed ‘fuck off’ on the inner lip] whilst four people have an argument - two in each channel. Wild scraping violin.

Miley Backmask:

MC5 like thump and riff over which Morris sings ‘I’m your bum slut’ - I think? Probably the most straightforward track on the album.

Deepest Shasta:

Another sombre monologue over the bones of a slow moving trudge which dissolves into a live version of Deep Purples ‘Black Night’ without ever leaving the former behind. Monologue is like darkest poetry mentioning Bebo obituaries and Moors Murders victims. Gun shots are heard. Vocal sample: ‘Only Blackpool stands between us and revolution’. Ends in live wig out of Deep Purple’s Child In Time’ with Harris giving it the full on Gillan wails making him sound like a stuck pig vomiting bile onto his shoes. Morris sings same lines from ELO’s Mr Blue Sky as at intro. By ending OZ OZ Alice with a live rendition of the opening sample The Hobs give us a Möbius strip of demented proportions but its not quite finished or as straightforward as that for there is now ...

OZ OZ Alice:

Thirty five minutes of segued material that moves between Andrew Lilles vocal treatments, strangled punk solos, jabbering voices, nth generation live recordings and Morris intoning ‘I picked him up on me fillings’ in a mock dopey voice. Its all of the previous nine tracks mashed into one and stomped into shape with a size ten Doctor Marten boot, it’s also probably the most daring thing the Hobs have done to date.

Since the departure of long time band member Stan Batcow the Hobs have replaced shiny production values and leanings towards pop punk psychedelia with a dangerously out of control beast that looks like its being held together with hastily driven in nails, soggy string and dodgy drugs. The North West, Blackpool, all its ills and vomit and cheap beer and pointless weekend violence is as inextricably linked with the Hobs psyche and its one that requires your further investigation.

Comes in an A5 wallet with bizarre artwork by Brazilian artist Carlito Juanito

Contact:

ORB Editions

PO Box 35, Bangor

Gwynedd,

LL57 3ZF

United Kingdom

luminouspress [at] yahoo.com

www.okok.org.uk

Bacterium

Bacterium (băk-tîr'ē-əm)

Various Artists

Adeptsound. ADS100CD. 300 Copies.

Featuring:

Cheapmachines

Column One

DDAA

Dieter Müh

Maison Close

MNEM

N.Strahl.N

Josef Nadek

Schuster

Praying For Oblivion

The Psychogeographical Commission

Sevan_Oh

Its a taken for granted piece of software these days but I still get a kick out inserting a CD into the computer and finding all the track information appearing on the media player - for someone who remembers the days when you had to get up off your arse to switch TV channels [all three of them] its like alchemy. Even the most obscure of releases seems to have been dutifully transcribed by some eager listener. Bacterium was no different but what brought a wry smile to my face was that under the column ‘Genre’ were the words ‘Unclassifiable’. Which is ridiculous of course, there is no such thing as unclassifiable any more. Every major genre of music you can think of has numerous sub genres and then there’s all the new sub sub sub genres that appear at regular intervals where ‘x’ multiplies with ‘y’ to produce a ‘z’.

But what to pigeonhole Bacterium with? I always favour ‘Industrial Ambience’ but with a push you could nail it with ‘Dark Ambience’ but then maybe thats a bit too Cold Meat Industry. Post Apocalyptic Industrial Ambience I’ve used before too but today I’m going to go with Industrial Noise Ambience With Slight Ritualistic Tendencies And A Leaning Towards Noise And Experimentation. It’s a tad clumsy I know but it may just stick.

We’ve been here before, most recently with the various artist comp Stählerne Lichter, with which this shares a number of artists, but whereas that release contained several real stinkers Bacterium’s bad contribution factor is but the merest ripples on a smooth mill pond of excellence.

Theres some unfamiliar names to conjure with first [to these ears at least] most of which would appear to be worth further investigation; Psychogeographical Commission’s eerie chatterings are sublime, Maison Close’s noise blizzard coupled with stressed female vocal sample would appear to hold much promise and Josef Nadek’s contribution will have the Apocalyptic Power Electronic genre fans going all weak and weepy. French duo DDAA’s track finds them mixing treated harmonica with electronic burbles, strings and deep throat vocals the end result sounding like a cross between Jac Berrocal and Extended Organ. Sevan_Oh veer into Illusion of Safety land with two looped vocal samples played over each other to a background of slowly morphing keyboard work and the merest hint of a trip-hop beat.

This is no reason to gloss over what is offered by the more familiar names, Dieter Müh, Column One, Schuster, N.Strahl.N, MNEM and Cheapmachines all weigh in with some prime Industrial Ambient groan, which is nothing less than I expected. The only runt of the litter is Praying For Oblivion whose three minute noise stab appears like an unwanted grease stain but that aside this is an excellent release.

My only big problem is with the packaging. Dulled out grey font on a glossy black background never goes down a storm here but it may explain why the online database has Schuster down as Chuster. It’s still doesn’t explain ‘unclassifiable’ though does it?

Comes in a digipak with 12 page booklet.

Contact: http://www.adeptsound.net/home.html

Atole

Atole - Strike Zone/Dirtybird

Community Library. 7” single. 300 copies.

Regular readers will realise that me and links to MP3’s [sent for the purpose of reviewing] make for uncomfortable bedfellows. I realise that the link may lead to a release that will cause a seismic shift in my musical understanding resulting in me hurriedly putting 99% of my record collection on eBay, getting into religion, selling the house and moving to India to work for the Red Cross but at the end of the day its still an MP3 link.

Community Library understand this and in an email exchange I pointed out that my inbox is sacrosanct, a place of refuge, not a dumping ground for any malcontent with more time on time on his hands than talent. In reply their head cheese stated that sending links for review is now deemed standard practice and that some review sites actually prefer this method as it leads to a reduced accumulation of unwanted detritus. Mmmmm, well I guess I’m not one of them but for Community Library I will make an exception seeing as how their previous release, a collection of The Units rarities, was damned near stuck in my CD player for weeks on end.

First let us pass the hurdle that is MP3. My opinion of MP3’s is that they are better than nothing and they sure make carrying music about a lot easier. I remember going on holiday in the 80’s and half my suitcase was taken up with cassettes. These days I can carry more music to Paxos, than I could ever listen in seven days, in a gadget that takes up less space than a ten pack of fags. That’s a big plus in any travelers world. The sound quality leaves a lot to be desired of course. If you’re desperate for that must have Tangerine Dream bootleg then I guess anything will do but when I sit down on a Saturday night, glass of malt in hand I don’t put the iPod on shuffle, I dig out vinyl and luxuriate in all its many qualities and after about half the bottle has gone I want to pick up each one in turn and smother them all in alcohol sealed kisses telling them that they’ll always have me and that I’ll never leave them for a series of digital ones and zeros.

Which brings me back to Atole and their seven inch single which I don’t have but of which I do have two slim MP3 files of. Atole’s good time synth music is like a cross between Devo and Chic and judging by the photo on CL’s website has the delirious females of Portland jumping about like demented pixies. Squeaky vocal additions come on like DJ shout outs crossed with repetitive ‘oi oi oi’s’. The drums are rapid and punk like, the bass is rumping pumping and the whole thing would no doubt liven up any party down your street where people want to have a good time whilst clipping the light shades with their exuberant pogoing. The flip is an instrumental that you could also jump about to but without the squeaky vocals its just a taster.

The record itself looks a thing of beauty with a pop out sleeve and some Aztec artwork but I don’t have it in my hand. All I have in my hand is a forefinger that was once pressed on play and is now hovering above stop.

Contact:

http://www.community-library.net/

http://www.myspace.com/atole

Timothy C Holehouse/LAN Formatique

Timothy C Holehouse/LAN Formatique

Cassette. No label.

The Undermeister recommended ‘Bradford’s Noise of the Valleys - A History of Bradford Rock and Pop 1967-1987’. It was a book I’d half looked at when it came out a couple of years ago but had totally forgotten about and there I was in Jumbo Records on Saturday morning buying a couple of choice items and there it was up on the shelf. So i asked the guy behind the counter if I could have a look and he hands me the book and the four CD’s that come with it and it all looks great in a hand written rock family tree, old newspaper clippings, flyers kind of way but the print on the CD insert was so small I could hardly read it but what the hell £25 for all that it seemed like a bargain. Later that day I’m perusing the book and getting all nostalgic at the mention of the 1 in 12 Club and The Market Tavern and I’m half way down my bottle of red when I realise that the disc number one contains a Smokie track called Back to Bradford. Smokie hailed from Gomersal [ask Mutant Ape George] a small village which I eventually came to live in for six years. They were a big deal in the 70’s but to us they were just a run of the mill pop band who we would never take seriously.

It must have been 1979 or ’80 when eight of those Smokie hating Skynyrd loving school leavers went to the South of France for a two week beach holiday. All the way to the South of France on a 52 seater charabanc and when we’re about 50 miles away from the Med what does the driver shove in the cassette player? Only Smokie’s greatest bleeding Hits thats all. I’ve never forgiven him for it. On that album [whatever Smokie album it was] there was the track Back to Bradford and I’m thinking we’ve just done 700 hundred miles in a shitty, sweaty cramped bus with no bog all the way from Bradford and for two weeks the last place on earth that matters to me is Bradford and here were Smokie going ‘I’m going back to Bradford its what I prefer’ and I’m thinking you must be off your fucking nut to think that you daft sods. Here we are in 90f temperatures surrounded by beautiful women with tanned bodies and your saying that a dismal pile of bricks and curry shops is the best place on earth? And from that day until yesterday I’d never heard Back to Bradford but whilst I was halfway down my bottle of red that same opening glam rock intro riff came out of the speakers and I was back on that bus and thinking about all the good times we had during those two weeks. Which got me to thinking how remarkable the human brain is, storing that information from thirty years ago and in the space of a few seconds it had made the connection - here’s that song you heard thirty years ago and heres all the memories that go with it. A remarkable instrument the human brain, a pity some folks never use them.

I don’t suppose I’ll be having that same connection moment in thirty years time when it comes to Timothy C Holehouse and Lan Formatique. If I’m still alive in thirty years time these two will be but distant memories. In fact you’d have to pull off a printed copy of this review and shake it in front of my half blind eyes just to begin the memory jogging process. Such is the anonymity of what has just passed. On a muddy cassette appears two sides of vibrating, reverbed two phase drone [Holehouse] and Sunn O))) 10th generation live bootleg recorded on a dictaphone that was in the back pocket of a fat person wearing heavy wool serge trousers who was sat down on the floor above whilst having a rest from all his burger eating [LAN Formatique]. I can’t even remember who gave me this, probably came with a Jase Williams package. Another piece of flotsam.

I think I’ll have a run out to Bradford, its been a while since I was last there.

Contact:

www.lan-formatique.net

www.myspace.com/timothycholehouse

Bradford’s Noise of the Valleys - www.bradfordnoise.com