kinetic poetry: joe murray on acrid lactations, yol, blood stereo and zn
April 12, 2014 at 2:37 pm | Posted in new music, no audience underground | Leave a commentTags: acrid lactations, agorafobia, blood stereo, chocolate monk, colectivo n, gerado picho, improv, joe murray, kiks/gfr, kiksbooks, miguel perez, new music, no audience underground, noise, oracle netlabel, tapes, vocal improvisation, yol, zn
Acrid Lactations – The Rotten Opacity of it All (All This Rot) (CD-r, Chocolate Monk, choc.280)
Yol – Metal Theft (C20 tapes, kiksbooks, edition of 20)
Blood Stereo – The Trachelin Huntiegowk (CD-r, Chocolate Monk, choc.243)
ZN – ZN (C90 tape, Agoraphobia Tapes, 30)
Acrid Lactations – The Rotten Opacity of it All (All This Rot)
The Acrid Lactations introduce themselves with a keening, blackboard scrape of the mind. Like when some juiced-up Beat described the howling pipes of Morocco as ‘prehistoric rock n’ roll’ Glasgow’s finest ingest the Master Musicians of Joujouka and spit them back out as the black-sticky-tar of deepest mung. There’s no doubt this has a scaly dinosaur vibe but it’s brought right up-to-date; like a Jurassic Park vacuum flask or something.
Three longish pieces make up (all this rot). Individual tracks could be modestly un-named or included in the mysterious limerick emblazoned on the backside of the blinding white sheath.
What was dirt coils,
Vainglory peals the frothy blossom,
No peal but dull the solemnest ballast.
So track one, or in my mind what I’m calling ‘What was dirt coils’, twin violins are subject to agonisingly slow torture. Trilling ‘bruuuuurrrrsss’ and abstract humming mesh the astringent scrape with careful tape manipulation, adding another layer of dislocation to the lonely lament. My overactive imagination pictures wandering alone on a desolate heath, the wind whispering cruel curses,
‘stick t’path, keep off moors’.
At this point questions like, “What’s vibrating string and what’s accelerating black tape screee?” become pointless. I neither know nor care. I’m simply delighted to surrender to the every-growing lycanthropic paranoia.
‘Vainglory peals the frothy blossom’ is a remarkable Dicatphone construction. A hyper-kinetic patchwork, busy with detail pinched from domestic recordings (red apple crunch) and intentioned playback (ukulele fiddy). It flashes bright as flame. Perfectly balanced, the blind-thumbed FFW screee and tape-knit bleats are measured against quieter ripping or an occasional shout or polystyrene scrunch or sewing box scrabble. Like listening to two people at once telling their side of the same story salient facts collide and disassociate at speed, context becomes all.
The closer ‘No peal but dull the solemnest ballast’ is a right Mad Comix knockabout hash-crash-smash with super-speed rubber percussion picking the bones out a towering Babel. More pipes (flesh and bamboo) slurp up against plucky banjo. Sounds are mixed right-up-in-your-face and then bathroom-down-the-hall with an untypical unevenness making this listener stoop then stretch to catch the narrative. This is a Jane Fonda workout of a listen…and my pale flabby midriff thanks you for it.
Again the distinctive fluid wretch of tape manipulation (in some grumbling form) take the language of improvisation and lactate it, milk it, not into sterile test tubes for the middle-brow arts crowd but into rude pottery jugs. Creamy and nutritious it slops over goblets, rough to the touch. And when I raise this white-gold to my lips and drink it down I’m refreshed in my body, head and heart.
Yol – Metal Theft
This smart little tape drops through the gloryhole with a familiar plastic crackle. Tapes from Yol always seem to fast-track the listening pile and proceeded directly to the cheap-o hi-fi for immediate consumption. Nom nom nom.
Squeak-clack, play, hiss… ‘There is no finish line’ starts the Yol ritual with a teensy, tiny bell solo, a gentle brassy tinkling played on the sort of souvenir cow bell you might have picked up from a school exchange trip to Switzerland in 1985. Like the Swiss it’s sedate, low key, intimate…a nice little opener.
But hang about there. What’s this rough, throttled and somewhat skanky tape glot? It’s ‘Dock Noise’: a mucky wind-roar, a metallic crash. What are those machines called? The ones in a bowling alley that set up your pins with a clatter? A Bowl-a-rama? A Pin-matic? Well, whatever their trade name ‘Dock Noise’ sounds like one of them going all Hijokaiden and then catching on fire.
‘Empty Flattened Tents’ sports a see-sawing hinge-creak; almost like a lost voice (ahhhh – a – huhhh) that runs through this piece creating a rubbery flexible backbone. Layered over the skeleton an angle grinder moans away like a snapped clarinet. Stressed metal squeaks underneath Yol’s kinetic-poetry (all pretty full and fluent…not the hiccoughing – stammering violence of yore) to yarble about “angry broken wasp’s nests”.
Errrrr…side two opens with ‘Posset bite’ a very moist and unhinged random mouth-jam multiplied by several Dictaphones…gulp…a charming gesture from Yol that makes me blush like a red tomato.
‘Miniature dog live’ returns to one of Yol’s classic approaches – a rusty filing cabinet hauled across a rubber floor. The offending office furniture gets thoroughly beaten and beasted as he ROARS ‘what is that noise…WHAT IS THAT NOISE?’ between gravelly chokes and strangulated ‘gahhhhhsss’. As the name implies it’s a live piece and the influence of the audience coaxes a confrontational, no-instrument black metal performance from Yol; the bleakness of the Norwegian forest transplanted to freezing-cold factory units.
This whole tape is recorded in two distinct styles. Lo-fi stinkers can curl up with gentle inner-ear fumblings; hi-fi bores can rejoice in the gloriously expansive live recordings. But there is still that wonderfully claustrophobic greasiness to this tape, like being cooped up inside a whale.
As the Kiksbooks blog rightly points out. This is a release ‘for the connoisseur’. I love that nudge-nudge touch.
So, broadminded readers. You’ll have to move quickly as this chap is limited to 20 copies. And at a reasonable £4 plus is a budget-busting snip.
Blood Stereo – The Trachelin Huntiegowk
Two twenty minute pieces of gnarled-fux originally pressed into 50 pieces of wax and now burned onto polycarbonate plastic and aluminium for the hoi polloi!
Friends and neighbours of the no-audience underground (North & South) come together on ‘Side one’ in a collection of discrete recordings formed into a new whole. This earth mother divides itself into 5 glorious parts:
- Part one – It’s slow & low. An ear to ear shuffle, domestic giffles and snatched school recordings run into vomit splosh or piss trickles. It makes me stop and wonder how long it took to capture each snippet…it’s a labour intensive approach for sure. The flowsy clarinet is introduced.
- Part two – a deep-dub Residents territory: collapsing loops of piano and doors slamming. Hiss and cornet again that reigns (in blood).
- Part three – back to a darker domestic…gurgles and snotty in the right ear, truncated samples in the left “eh oh eh-eh” (into bubbling lap experiments). A stray dog sniffing each lamp post moves in circles, testing and probing…straight lines are for squares man.
- Part four – breath sighs, moon loops…no one does it quite like this. Gasps. Organic weaving. But with a chaste cast, there is nothing sexual here. It’s like the innocence of snoring in a sinus-like cathedral.
- Part five – a pushy (and drunk) Canadian takes place of a come-down coda.
Phew…after that yeasty trip part two is going to have to live up to major expectation. With nowhere to go except true respect this second live piece is an honest, forming thing. Huff and chump are played cautiously like feudal warlords moving cavalry over the common ground of The Shire.
With few peaks this is a guerrilla campaign; hit and run…a war of attrition. The Blood Stereo show their mastery of the common ‘click’ and ‘clack’. You thought glitch-core went out of fashion with Oval. No way. These south coast munsters clunk-click every trip, building a sound-world grumpy Gaudi would dig with different timbres and speeds interlocking and breaking free. A thought erupts that I just can’t stop…
from this machinery hums come
oiled and whirling
fast, strong
tightness, meshing
meshing forever
(pert near)
steel gear inside gear
and smoothness
engaging, releasing
lapping and plunging
( – ‘Another Theory Shot to Shit’, fIREHOSE, 1986)
The boss has been talking of extraction music of late. An acute and timely observation. But what of the chaff left over from the mining process? The Trachelin Huntiegowk probes the remaining slag, the detritus of sonic grief, and polishes up a shiny opal reflecting the sunlight as a rainbow of all your collective memory.
Delve deep, drink fully. Dream dangerously.
ZN – ZN
Direct from the ashes of Colectivo N ‘ZN’ is born; the new handle of Ciudad Juarez’s finest Gerardo ‘Picho’ and RFM favourite Miguel Perez.
This god damn C90 tape is blackly black and starts off with the sound of someone wrestling with the wrapper of a riveted toffee-apple…’crackle, crukkkk, kraaaaak.’
Sparse yells and hollas slice like wounds but the the urge to rush forever forward is rejected and space opens up, blackness descends and unholy worlds are born in silence. At first power comes not from extreme volume and speed but the grey gravity that flows between gigantic bodies.
To an audience that’s grown accustomed to harsh walls of feedback and electronics the pairing of cornet and bass might seem a little light, pastoral even. But make no mistake the cornet (at times dry and hoarse as whooping cough, at others wetly thick) is painfully brutal. There is a military history to the brassy horn and it’s no wonder…this is making me edgy with its hot vibrating breath intent on conquest.
The bass sounds like it’s strung with industrial cable wrapped and stretched to dangerous high tension. Yup…there is the occasional deep growling riff but in the main Miguel keeps things high in the register, scraping and plucking. Not laying down any rhythm but leading you down blind alleys, deserted side-streets and into dangerous neighbourhoods.
The resulting oddness of side one (recognisable instruments doing unrecognisable things) frazzles my little brain and just about when synapses are about to snap a light-aircraft drone takes us above the clouds and into the merciless bronze sun.
Up here the gods clatter their impotent weapons, hurling abuse to the mortals below for failure to believe. A lone minstrel plays on impeaching the gods to spare mankind. Tears flow down ravaged faces but the cruel Sun God nods once, twice signifying displeasure, the minstrel is thrown down to earth to lay crushed on the rocks below.
Phew. I take a little break and prepare for the next instalment.
Side two opens with ‘Bitches Brew’ era Miles echo-horn but this time Teo Macero is slugging it out with Romain Perrot in a tin bath while exotic aluminium parrots pelt them with ingots of coal tar soap.
Tape grot and the crackle of 1000 bonfires smother a distant beat. And although at the same volume and intensity I get the feeling these are miniature, secret sounds amplified greatly.
Hoots echo round the concrete bunker and everything submits to this simple repetitive beat (and added fuzz combo) to form a sickly pitched nausea. This feels like the cover story for something really nasty. The longer it goes on the more I’m reminded of some deep nagging unease. It sounds like…
It sounds like corruption.
Once that thought is lodged in my noggin the scorched earth screech takes on a darker hue, layers of noise collapse on each other burying themselves…but still the beat remains. As relentless and banal as true evil.
In the best possible way this is a deeply unpleasant listen.
For more industrial ear-damage and to discover the real sound of Ciudad Juarez, check out their Bandcamp. This here live recording is a similarly outrageous trip. Phew!
—ooOoo—
anti-everything, super no-fi: joe murray on colectivo n
January 15, 2014 at 2:54 pm | Posted in new music, no audience underground | 2 CommentsTags: colectivo n, gerado picho, improv, joe murray, miguel perez, new music, no audience underground, noise, oracle netlabel
COLECTIVO N – LA ULTIMA TOCADA (download, Oracle Netlabel, ORE95)
Colectivo N – En El Polvo De Lo Que Soy (download, Oracle Netlabel, ORE94)
COLECTIVO N – Chinwuindin (download, Oracle Netlabel, ORE91)
Colectivo N – Comando Anti Snob (download, Oracle Netlabel, ORE93)
LA ULTIMA TOCADA
Radio Free Midwich favourite Miguel Perez plays guitar with his compatriot Gerado Picho on trumpet, voice and objects to make up the anti-everything, super no-fi, Mexican duo – Colectivo N. This 15 minute piece is launched through Miguel’s net-label Oracle and sounds like a real seat-of-the-pants recording. Captured in the moment and jammed round a single mic this lets the breeze blow and cars honk by as Miguel pummels an acoustic guitar with abandon. Picho adds un-tutored, rusty trumpet and the occasional dark curse on ‘La Del Estribo’. The spirit of freedom descends and we are in a total group-mind situation where to pause is to invite death. The relentless cackle of unconscious sound never batters, but fills up the empty brain cells we don’t bother to use when walking about, watching TV or talking to work colleagues. I feel full up of fluffy sound…like I’ve snorted a tremendous Yorkshire Pudding. This is not what Herb Albert meant to uncover when he travelled to Tijuana.
En El Polvo De Lo Que Soy
Anything subtitled ‘Free Improv Scum’ gets me all excited so it’s with relish I plug in the headphones to check this short 3 track release out. ‘0’ starts with an almost grindcore bass riff that descends into ham-fisted poking and prodding as some Mexican radio starts up delivering a speech or something. The occasional shard of sheet-metal-crash lends an early Sonic Youth vibe – Halloween, that kind of era. ‘1’ and ‘2’ continue the spookiness with more bass noodle and that fucked up trumpet honking in my left ear like the devil’s own goose on my shoulder until a steel water tower collapses in the right ear.
Chinwuindin
A guitar battle in Hell! Track one ‘Chinwuindin’ captures that kind of ‘hunched over the amps lost in a world of electricity and noise’ that The Dead C and Ascension reach for. This lurches between avalanche scree, metal fingerings and Skullflower soaring with no one style being settled on for long. This is all about the experience of playing and the experience of listening. There’s nothing but to strap yourself in and enjoy the ride…for 50 god damn minutes.
Track two, a session recorded in February 2013, continues the free-for-all quality but transfers it to twin acoustic guitars. With little of the volume and none of the dramatic effects this is an altogether different listen. Steel is tangled and wound up tight; notes and lighting fast runs are knotted up and playfully unravelled. While ‘Chinwuindin’ is a smeared Gehard Richter this is a medieval woodcut; painstaking slivers are carefully chiselled and removed leaving a diabolical image in the wake. My favourite part is the scratchy-scratchy wood knocking at about 9 mins in that comes across all Ken Mikami in it’s glorious outsiderness. Yeah man YEAH.
Be warned…this has fairly dodgy cover art that Miguel explains through the link below.
Comando Anti Snob
This has a multi-purpose approach like a lost compilation tape from the late 1980’s UK/USA/Japanese tape scene. Each of the nine tracks seems to invoke a different underground mood – that Colectivo N can certainly shuffle!
Parts remind me of Cock ESP or something – relentlessly heavy; probably played on guitars but things sound more like the nightmare of a giant robot (Ted Hughes’s Iron Man?) sweating nuts and bolts as big as cobble stones. Other tracks are an A-band hoot-a-long with Bagpuss organ and unrelated wooden fumbles. Then you’ve got ‘metal’ jamming in miniature like the garage-band next door before the drummer turns up. The between-track fuck about of groups like the Thinking Fellas Union Local 282 raises a head to cleanse the palette before another lurch into K2-style classic noise ‘WHHHOOOAARRRRRRRR’ and the unmistakable sound of sponges vomiting. I almost choke on my tea when I hear some spindly guitar whacking and I’m taken back into memories of I’m Being Good or Evil Barons lumping about…twanging like surf music just ran bone dry (on the desert shimmering, 13 min piece ‘IV’). The Anti Snob record ends with the kind of dada-junk-spew Prick Decay lunch on. This tasty morsel is swallowed whole oyster style with klunks and strangulated pipes.
All of these releases are free to download from Miguel’s Internet Archive pages. Not sure where to start Midwichers? May I recommend this here Comando Anti Snob available on the handy link below…it’s a belter.
rob takes huge bite, eyes water, grins, attempts to swallow: rfm rounds ’em up
June 28, 2013 at 11:56 am | Posted in new music, no audience underground | 2 CommentsTags: aetheric records, brian lavelle, colectivo n, crater lake sound, drone, dust unsettled, electro pop, electronica, etai keshiki, improv, marky loo loo, miguel perez, mika jarvis, nacht und nebel, new music, no audience underground, noise, oracle netlabel, people-eaters, peopling, tapes, the subs, the subs(cribers)
people-eaters – hinterland (3” CD-r, edition of 20, or download, Aetheric Records)
people-eaters – vore EP (download, Aetheric Records)
peopling – BULBOUT (download, self-released)
Etai Keshiki – Shit Off (download, self released)
nacht und nebel – downloads culled from five various releases
Colectivo “N” – La Ultima Tocada 06-02-2013 (download, Oracle Netlabel, ORE95)
Brian Lavelle – The Night Ocean (download, Dust, Unsettled)
The Subs(Cribers) – Spilling Gravy In The Castle Of unfathomable Terrors (tape, edition of 40, Crater Lake, CL#003)
Dear reader, as a fellow music fan, I wonder if you ever feel that you have bitten off more than you can chew? Do you stare forlornly at a pile of unheard tapes and CD-rs? Do you scroll guiltily through the overfull menus on your mp3 player? Do you look at your monthly credit card bill, panic that you have been the victim of some kind of fraud, then realise that all those little Paypal payments are for various microlabel whims?
Heh, heh…
It’s brilliant isn’t it? What a privilege to have access to so much terrific art and the wonderful people that make it! I wouldn’t have it any other way: long may I choke. A case in point: last month through a mixture of hard work, delegation and judicious use of the words ‘no thanks’ I managed to get the review pile here at Midwich Mansions down to zero items. Did I take the opportunity to sit on the porch and admire the rhododendron flowers? Did I bollocks. I touted for freebies, I drifted around Bandcamp, I even paid for a few physical objects with actual money. Last week the right speaker of my ear buds broke and I had an infection in my left ear that made it painful to listen to music. Time to take a break? Not a bit of it. I ended up ramming the still working left bud into the wrong ear so I could continue getting my groove on, albeit in discombobulating mono – *sighs, grins sheepishly* – I just can’t help myself. The upshot of all this silliness is that the review pile is now teetering again and a round-up is in order. I shall point you at some great stuff that can be had cheaply or for nowt and explain with brisk efficiency why you should check it out. Links at the end. First up…
hinterland by people-eaters comprises two tracks totalling about 19 minutes and is available as a criminally limited 3″ CD-r with lovely cover by Crow versus Crow (a sort of ethereal version of the Black Flag logo), or as a download from that Bandcamp. The main components of the music are a swell of delicately balanced feedback, some breathy electronics and a low, hissing crackle (monotron?) which sprinkles a pinch of iron filings over the mix. It has a cool, enveloping feel – as if the frozen wastes are close, but that you are protected from them by a layer of parental skin and hair. Thus it documents the antenatal experience of a gestating polar bear cub (now there is a pull quote for a press release if ever I saw one: “makes you feel like an ursine foetus” – radiofreemidwich). It is also beautifully recorded and this attention to detail shows an admirable faith in their own vision. If you are going to take the trouble to return your listener to the womb then you shouldn’t allow anything to poke the amniotic sac.
The vore EP (five tracks, 21 minutes, Bandcamp download) shows a similar level of light but unswerving control. Minimal elements – an ominous rumble, a voodoo rattle, the splintered reflections from a broken mirror – are slowly rotated to give the listener a chance to appreciate each facet, then dismissed. There is, dare I say it, a midwichian simplicity to this release: the methods of construction are discretely hidden, the sounds trusted to engage (or not) on their own terms. I wholeheartedly approve of this discipline and like the results very much.
Coming at things from a different but equally satisfying direction is New York based noisester Ronnie Gonzalez who records as peopling. His skill is in taking the tropes of power noise – gargling electronics, sulphuric vocal distortion – and by combining them judiciously with more accessible ‘musical’ elements creating something fun and life-affirming. His latest, BULBOUT, a three track EP totalling seven minutes, has the funk – not a notion much called upon here at RFM. Older readers may recall the mutant pop of early 90s electro-industro-punkers like Babyland (yeah, if you want ‘played once on John Peel 20 years ago’ references this blog is for you!). Peopling is the teenage son of that sound: beaming, busting with mischievous energy and clearly spitting out his medication the second the nurse leaves the room.
Ronnie refers to BULBOUT as a ‘digital 7″ single’ which makes perfect sense to me. One of the strengths of the Bandcamp model is that, within the prescribed site format (ugly but functional enough to be transparent), you are free to present your release how you like. If your work is complete, coherent and self-contained then why can’t it be an ‘album’, even if it is only two minutes long? Which brings me to…
Shit Off by Etai Keshiki is a one track album totalling an epic 113 seconds and apparently named for an incidental detail in the short film My Wrongs 8245-8249 and 117 by Chris Morris (click on thumbnail to enlarge). It is hardcore fast, rhythmically elastic and very, very angry. Imagine the camera focussed on someone drowning in a lake, screaming for help as they surface, limbs flailing in the churning froth. Then the camera pulls back to reveal there are actually four people making exactly the same moves in unison. This is synchronised, precision flailing. Freely downloadable but chuck these kids some money if you can as they are always proper anarcho-punk skint.
New to me is the charming Henry Davies who took my left elbow in one hand and with the other gestured to his Bandcamp site where the lazy can find all his recordings as nacht und nebel collected in one convenient location. I downloaded the newest five – split tape w/Crimwewave, split tape w/Lea Cummings, hrönir, split 7″ with W>A>S>P>S and 466 Days originating on various labels – which takes us from the present day back to October of last year. Selecting ‘play all’ on my mp3 device accidentally compiled them into an impressively cohesive 11 track, 61 minute ‘album’ of short and shortish noise tracks.
Henry’s sole sound source is, apparently, a cello though there is little that sounds like a Bach concerto here. Like Chrissie Caulfield’s violin, I suspect his instrument is filtered and processed by a daisy-chain of effects before it reaches our ears. Most of this is fairly heavy duty electronic noise but it is far from being mere HNW. Henry has an ear for the rhythmically mechanical and is adept at handling a rolling crescendo – a quality sorely lacking in much overly-static ‘harsh’ noise. Thus the tracks have dynamism, momentum and are edited for impact. The rhythmic elements clear some headspace which allows the listener to fully appreciate the atmosphere. Thus despite being a demanding listen, the work is never wilfully bombastic or alienating. Very much worth your while.
A word about Henry’s band name, as I was troubled by it. Nacht and nebel (‘night and fog’) was the Nazi policy of providing no information as to the fate of those taken prisoner by the regime. It facilitated mass murder, unimaginable horror shrouded behind mute bureaucracy. Is there anything more nightmarish? It is also the German title of Nuit et brouillard a profoundly harrowing short documentary film about the Holocaust released in 1955, directed by Alain Resnais. In short: why the fuck would anyone choose this as their band name? I put this to him and he replied:
First off, it’s emphatically not a pro-nazi thing at all.
When I started doing this (about 7 years ago, I think?) I had the idea that whatever name I chose for it should in some way reflect the fact that it isn’t obvious that all the sounds originally come from the same source (a ‘cello) – a kind of audio obscurantism, if you like. Around the same time, I happened to be reading Philip K Dick’s The Simulacra, which mentions nacht und nebel in passing, and that it translates to night and fog (but little else, as i recall), which struck me as exactly the sort of thing I had in mind. Some investigation at the library later and the awful nature of it was quite striking.
My intention with nacht und nebel musically has always been to evoke an atmosphere of dread more than anything, with suggestions of unsettling and nightmarish things going on that are being hidden from view so you can never quite make them out (seen through a glass, darkly, as it were) and that you have no control over. (Which no doubt betrays my interest in certain kinds of horror) – judging my success or otherwise at attaining such arguably highfalutin goals is no doubt best left as an exercise for the listener. But that all played into the choice of name as well in one way or another – as you say, troubling.
So yes, it’s entirely abhorrent, both for what it obscured and that it enabled ‘across-the-board, silent defiance of international treaties and conventions: one cannot apply the limits and terms of humane treatment in war if one cannot locate a victim or discern that victim’s fate.’ That said, I do find it interesting that ‘band’ names are almost always taken to be a positive thing (a kind of seal of approval) when there’s no real reason for the opposite not to be the case (i.e. the band ebola, for instance, come to mind as an example.)
I was satisfied with this (and, as an aside, that last point is an interesting one). I suppose my worry about his use of that concept for a band name comes from growing up with industrial noise and power electronics in the 1980s and 1990s. That scene was overflowing with idiots vying to be the most ‘shocking’ or ‘challenging’ or ‘transgressive’ and I suppose when I found out what ‘nacht and nebel’ referred to I was taken back to those tedious times. Now I see that is not Henry’s intention at all and, whilst I am still squeamish about the use of such concepts/imagery in this context, I’m happy to acknowledge that he has at least thought this through.
OK, let’s lighten the mood.
Colectivo N is the improv duo of RFM regular Miguel Perez (La Mancha Del Pecado, The Skull Mask) and his compañero Picho. La Ultima Tocada (June 2, 2013) is the document of their last gig together before Picho moved way over west to that other crazy border town Tijuana. What we have here is a very entertaining quarter hour of Miguel jaggling the strings (yes I know jaggling isn’t a proper word but you know exactly what I mean, don’t you?) of his guitar whilst Picho wails comically and/or mournfully through a strangulated trumpet. There are vocals: sardonic interludes and some exaggerated, grunting pastiche of lounge jazz – a bit in the first few minutes reminded me of the scat solo in the immortal ‘mnah mnah’ Muppet Show sketch. Worth noting that this performance did not take place in the Juarez equivalent of the Fox & Newt in front of a knowing, improv-savvy audience but in a regular bar in front of bemused punters who had little idea what was occurring. These boys have some big brass balls. Miguel tells me that the recording cuts out before the applause because… there was no applause. Which is both hilarious and awesome.
After all this noisy racket my poor infected ears needed a little balm so, on a whim, I made a visit to the website of long-term friend of this blog Brian Lavelle. Brian’s work, that is: his own recordings and those made by friends and associates released by him on his Bandcamp label Dust, Unsettled, is uniformly excellent. To my shame, a quick search of this blog reveals that he has not been mentioned recently. My apologies – I suspect this is because I rather take him and the quality of his offerings for granted. Erik Satie once described selections of his own work as ‘furniture music’, meaning them to be used as background ambience, and I have to admit to treating Brian’s back catalogue as a kind of wing-backed leather armchair. Around Midwich Mansions his music is ‘used’ – as a lullaby, a massage, an exotic holiday, a diverting puzzle – rather than ‘listened to’ as such. Sounds like a back-handed compliment, I know, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.
Take, for example, The Night Ocean a 40 minute, single track album inspired by an atmospheric short story by H.P. Lovecraft and R.H. Barlow (a pdf version of which is thoughtfully included with the download). It ripples in the cool offshore breeze, it shimmers with reflected moonlight (‘Yet for me there is a haunting and inscrutable glamour in all the ocean’s moods. It is in the melancholy silver foam beneath the moon’s waxen corpse…’), it fizzes as each stroke disturbs the plankton and triggers a phosphorescent display. And that is it: no driving forward momentum, no complicated narrative, just a barely perceptible ebb and flow. By using ‘stop’ or ‘repeat’ this track can be made to last exactly as long as you need it to. An excellent example of the underrated sub-genre LNW (lovely noise wall).
And finally…
If the concept of ‘goodwill’ could be transformed into a band then the result would be The Subs, such is the regard with which they are held. The doe-eyed adoration is justly deserved, however, as the duo of Markylooloo (Stoke scene veteran, paragon of virtue) and Mika (the girl who radiates sunshine) produce electro-pop perfection. The band’s small but exquisite catalogue of songs, crafted in fits of sporadic creativity spanning two decades, is almost overwhelmingly charming. Cute without being twee, sweet without being saccharine, daft without being stupid – it’s as groovily, refreshingly life-affirming as eating ice-lollies in the park on a warm Sunday afternoon. Lovely.
—ooOoo—
Right then, here’s where to get all this great stuff:
The Subs(Cribers) – Discogs listing, more info here, no word on the Crater Lake site as yet so email Pete – pete_cann@hotmail.co.uk – for ordering details.
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