we are not back. a low apricot sun: rfm on fritz welch, shots, caught in the wake forever & glacis

October 1, 2018 at 4:39 pm | Posted in new music, no audience underground | Leave a comment
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Fritz Welch – A Desire to Push Forward Without Gaining Access to Anything (Radical Documents)

Shots – Can We Win (Regional Bears)

Caught in the Wake Forever & glacis – Version & Delineation (Crow Versus Crow)

We are not back.

Blimey!  This recent flurry of RFM activity has caught us all a bit by surprise eh?  Murray Royston-Ward’s A.I. experiments and this recent human-text have been delightfully momentary for sure but it’s only fair to say RFM is still not accepting submissions.

There may be a conversation “discussing revised terms of engagement and subtle, unannounced changes” but, for the foreseeable future, we are not back.

fritz welch

Fritz Welch – A Desire to Push Forward Without Gaining Access to Anything (Radical Documents) Vinyl LP

Who is the man who breathes art out his blowhole, dance from his tiny tootsies and releases musical guff as powerful scent? You guessed it.  It’s Fritz Welch. The Glasgow-based multi-tasker, a pencil in each mitt and contact mic taped to his nipple.  You dig?

On this tremulous disc (a deeply satisfying turquoise vinyl slab) he leaves his usual drum kit and goggles at home to concentrate on the purest vocal jaxx and quick mental hi-jinks.

Checking the sleeve and laying this platter on the turntable you realise long text-sound workouts dominate each side of slippery wax.  “Am I ready?” you may mumble.

This occasion starts with Square Teeth Non-Linear Conference Room a multi-tracked jam for rough voice, orphaned text and sing-song croon.  Quite a cocktail eh?  Our man Welch swoons with himself via squeals and brackish inhalations.  Having multiple voices in each speaker is not the least bit BohRap if you’re wondering.  It’s more like sitting between two well-oiled drinkers, each one slobbering at the shoulder singing ‘you’re my best fucking pal’ in broken Verdurian.

I ponder as I listen and reach for a notebook to clarify, make sense, take stock.  After a few minutes I look at what’s appeared on the lined foolscap.  A crude graph; it says Sammy Davis Jr smoothness (x axis), Konnakol drum chatter (y axis).  Does that help?

The short, side one, closer is the sobering Tamio’s Prison Song.  The back cover says, “A poetic response to a song often performed by Tamio Shiraishi” which indeed it is but with a handful of glitter thrown over the despicable prison-for-profit movement.

The Donald Judd vs Elmer Fudd Inner Space Crisis is seventeen minutes of pre-language warbles and spit-riffs.  Lips slap and wobble, deep-throated hollas crow like a ghostly jackdaw.  Garbled routines are built up from reptile memory and hissed out between the teeth.  Whatever shrieks and howls occur breathing space and sound placement is paramount with each vox chop.

So while Fritz delivers in real time (I’m guessing) his hawks are lightly frosted with the subtle electronics of Andrew Barker.  This gentle delay and comfy hiss act like a Middle Eastern spice – cumin I guess – lending an essence of warmth, a hint of heat, a rumour of esoteric wisdom.

Ever the gentleman, rather than go for the big obvious finale Fritz favours a classy plughole suck…a slurping finality to play us out.

Then I realise, the cold dark inevitable was a constant feature of my time with this disc, the joy of expression and life and love casually lifts the veil to the timeless beyond.

Fuxxing heavy!


Shots – Can We Win (Regional Bears) Cassette and digital album

More remarkable un-music from New York ear-surgeons Shots.

These mysterious Shots inhabit the world of domestic field recordings, slow tabletop improvisation and tape manipulation but in the most subtle, lowercase way imaginable – somehow making Spoils & Relics sound as rawkus as 80’s louts Drunks with Guns or something.

Imagine the sound of cutlery drawer rummage, a slow pace around the garden shed, the heavy in/out of your own breathing adding a scrumptious layer you wear as you would a fleshy gilet.  You’re getting close to the non-linear ‘clunks’ and ‘pops’ that inhabit this delightful tape that bristles like frantic bedbugs scrabbling over tinfoil.

Side A is the more measured of the two, and may even feature a dripping drainpipe, as individual Shots flex creaky knees, fondle suede gloves and rustle chunky knit cardigans in front of a barrage of vintage microphones.

Side B is marginally more energetic with clunks and friction smears almost falling into some sort of rhythmic pattern.  A metallic bowl in rattled, a greasy trumpet strains to hit a note, the dry click of plastic cups makes a bakelite crackle creating (for a moment) that brief kindling crescendo you get when you build a fire in the woods.

Perfect deep-listening for the urban wild walker.

caught in the wake forever

Caught In The Wake Forever & glacis – Version & Delineation (Crow Versus Crow) Cassette and digital album

I’ve started this review a dozen times with flippant scribbles about lost loves, autumn leaves and dust motes caught in the beams of a low apricot sun.   But this poetic piffle would be a clumsy crowbar, a suspicious stain when compared to this wonderful, wonderful tape.

A first time collaboration, Fraser McGowan (CITWF) and Euan Alexander Millar-McMeeken (glacis) have created a heart-stopping work of beautiful longing.

The simple, haunting piano sketches (played by Euan direct to iphone) sound both fresh and as deeply rooted in memory as your first kiss.  The floating familiarity of those ivory tones shimmer, rich and fragrant as fine olive oil, until they drop in fat succulent drips.  Each golden patter erupts with scent and the giddy hope of the young in love.

Fraser’s ego-less sound manipulation keeps the melodies front and centre but fogs and smears the edges ever-so-slightly with perfectly judged echoes and additions.  At times you hear the slight ghosting of the piano itself, the mechanics of the depressed keys, the creak of the lacquered lid.  At others a child’s voice or the distinctive ‘whump’ as a heavy book closes its pages.  Each sonic insertion is finely balanced and carefully, lovingly considered.

And of course, this all comes together in a perfect soft cloud, as comforting as saffron dissolved into warmed milk.  It’s fucking marvelous.

As ever Crow Versus Crow’s Andy Wild clothes his tapes in handsome gowns and trappings.  This glittering tape comes housed in an opaque J card printed with rambling roses and psychedelic brocade.   The ‘O’ card is both heavily recycled and lovingly printed.  It’s a beaut.

The best Crow Versus Crow tape ever I’ve asked myself?  You absolutely bet reader.  The very highest recommendations!


rejection of predetermined techniques : luke vollar on vluba, tom richards, sean derrick cooper marquardt & hole house

June 1, 2017 at 5:57 am | Posted in new music, no audience underground | Leave a comment
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Vluba- Altar (Aetheric Records)

Tom Richards – Selected Live Recordings 2013 – 2016 (Fractal Meat Cuts)

Sean Derrick Cooper Marquardt – Air Almanya   (Aetheric Records)

Hole House – A Stranger in Town (Aetheric Records)


Vluba- Altar (Aetheric Records) CDr and digital album

Strange occurrences from this Argentinean duo as they operate dark and gelatinous horizontal happenings within the shadows.

The mysterio vibe is kept aloft with pseudonyms (I guess); Murisia and Aphra provide a list of instruments on their website that may or may not exist.

Of the various descriptions on their Tumblr site my favourite is “negative improv” an approach I can get down with; it erodes the individual and throws a psychedelic blanket of sound out.  No longer doing a call and response jam with your buddy but morphing into one mighty being for an incense drenched trance ritual.
The happening across three spacious tracks include ominous intonations, reverb-ed clank and an amorphous smog of ghostly electronics. A slow procession of unseen horror like John Carpenter’s “The Fog. “

If I had to describe this CDr in one word it would be ‘goat!’

tom richards

Tom Richards – Selected Live Recordings 2013 – 2016 (Fractal Meat Cuts) sold out tape and digital album

In this review I will ask a lot of questions but provide no answers:

1. Sinuous blood lava reverberating inside a conch shell. As pleasing to the fists as pizza dough.

2. Woah! there boy. Scattershot mulch of demented bells , voices from the beyond and spongy  synth-drek flecked against the wall. Like Wile E Coyote is the size of a wasp and trapped under your drained snakebite and black pot. Drunk from viscous fluid.

3. More voices sped up, reversed. Ladies gasps chopped up like lemon grass. Stubby fingers prod greasy portals. Health and safety? Nah mate

4. New trainers? Yeah mate sorted. Actually danceable electro grunk with neon goo dribbled over hiccuping beatz. Ever regretted getting up to dance to brainy electronic music on an empty dancefloor?

5. Buried field recordings under metallic chirps and insistent lemon sherbet rhythmicals. Ever wondered how an Altern 8 /Morton Feldman collaboration would pan out?

6. Tin can feedback is at war with the obnoxious robodude trying to get his groove on. Is this a battle that can be won?

7. Liking the diced syllables. Like Hip Hop chop-project Prefuse 73 done with Fisher Price keyboards, elastic band and glue.

Tom Richards music offers a glorious array of unlikely collaborations to play out in your mind. It pleases me that he closes the tape with a daytime fever dream of the Delia Derbyshire/The Prodigy hook up that you never dared to believe could ever happen.

sean derrick

Sean Derrick Cooper Marquardt – Air Almanya   (Aetheric Records) 3” CDr, badge and digital album

More horror drone from Aetheric.

This is apparently accidental guitar music. A rejection of predetermined techniques and an embrace of spontaneous no-mind noise-making.  SDCM doesn’t rehearse for gigs or recordings either so this Berlin-based American presents a collection perplexing sound oddities.

I’m guessing that the approach includes choosing your environment to record in and allowing whatever sounds occur to coexist with the artists creation though Lord alone knows what he’s doing amidst all the small sound events.

This is quiet beguiling music that seems to flow eternally – the 3″ format provides a snippet  of gracefully unfolding sound in motion.

hole house

Hole House – A Stranger in Town (Aetheric Records) 3” CDr and digital album

Next up from what is looking to be the No Audience Underground’s least cheerful micro-label is this chilly little number.

A stark abandoned property graces the cover, perhaps the abandoned  VHS rental shop in West Yorkshire, where the recording took place.   To hammer the message home like a hot nail the Bandcamp includes a lengthy quote from arch-pessimist Thomas Ligotti.  So far, so gloomy.

The short tracks all have an icy insistence, a lethargic draw to a murky centre that comes nauseatingly in and out of focus. Take for instance ‘The Way Out’ as rusty metal echoes within a damp stuttering oscillation, it sounds as dark and grim as the cover.  ‘A Place You Left Behind’, uses smears of vaporous tone as a hymn to decay.

The titles point to time spent in a sad dilapidated house, wondering what went wrong. The presence of those gone and forgotten hangs over these recordings like a blackened spectre.


Aetheric Records

Fractal Meat Cuts Bandcamp / Fractal Meat WordPress & essential radio show


kerry king’s amp fizz: joe murray on stuart chalmers, karl m v waugh, grey guides and cam

February 17, 2017 at 7:24 am | Posted in new music, no audience underground | Leave a comment
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Stuart Chalmers – In the Heart of Solitude (Constellation Tatsu)

Karl M V Waugh – Future Glows (Emblems of Cosmic Disorder)

Grey Guides – Beast Mask Supremacist (Crow versus Crow)

CAM – Mirror Confrontations (Skrat Records)


Stuart Chalmers – In the Heart of Solitude (Constellation Tatsu) cassette and Bandcamp download

Don’t know if it’s just me but this appears to be the perfect winter cassette of glum collisions.  Imagine bad thoughts reverberating inside your skull; the sounds bounce and amplify and leave a sooty fingerprint.  You shake your head but the dust remains however low and mellow the sun.

Regular readers will know Stuart manipulates tapes and tape loops with a sparse pedal set-up, mighty fists, secret knowledge and magical skill.  But this time it’s not just the loopology that takes the starring role, it’s the singular tape content that snaps like an arrowroot biscuit.

Here Stuart uses Indian Swarmandal tapes pretty much exclusively for his palette adding a layer of glittering resonance and magnetic space to each gentle track.

The dulcimer-like tones vibrate and twang, sour as brass but with an unmistakable air of mystery.  “Just what is behind those beaded curtains?”  They seem to whisper, while a be-jewelled finger beckons you through a hidden door into a room heavy with musk.

I’m transported (can’t you tell?) but you need facts eh reader?  The killer stand-out, the magnum opus has to be ‘reflection’.  It shimmers like a Bagpuss episode viewed through sepia-specs.  It builds slowly and metallically, fine interlocking coils spiralling ever tighter and tighter until sonic shrapnel bursts rudely from the shell.

There’s a slight panic, a speeding edge that propels each track into momentary discomfort.  And it’s that intersection between mystic enlightenment and dangerous toppling that makes me come back again and again to this wonderful little tape.

OH YEAH…While we’re talking I’ve got to give an honourable mention to Tlon a fruity collaboration between Stuart Chalmers (cassette/pedals) and Liam McConaghy (synths).  It’s now sold out in this realm but available for all you millennials on digital (e.g. not really there) editions.  It’s boss alright but gone, gone, gone.


Karl M V Waugh – Future Glows (Emblems of Cosmic Disorder) Cassette and Bandcamp Download

Ultra atmospheric, lichen creeping from the South Coast’s very only K M V Waugh.

Lengthy opener ‘Fire snow (i), fire snow (ii), fresh grow’ stretches out as slow as bone growth.  It starts slow and ends slow yet visits several distinct intervals on the journey: Meredith Monk on the Woodbines, bummed Didgeridoo guffs and the Electric Spanking (of war babies?).

Things grow darker on the even lengthier ‘Future glow (ii), final gravity’ that matches John Carpenter’s percussive judders over Space Odyssey’s floating-backwards-through-the-monolith-with-rainbow-brite-whurrrring .  The disembodied voice offers no comfort.

Designed for the sort of snitchy mediation we can expect in today’s topsy-turvy world.

A statement? Perhaps.  A coping mechanism? Very much so.

Plug in and remain alert!


Grey Guides – Beast Mask Supremacist (Crow versus Crow) Tape and bandcamp download

Encased in a top-notch Andy Wild photo-collage-art-piece (slate grey of course) this tape just fucking drips quality.

The Grey Guides hail from Morley outta Leeds and concentrate that satellite town dislocation that those city slickers just can’t replicate.  The exquisite weirdness of the suburbs runs through this tape like mould in a stinky cheese.

The instrumentation is sparse.  A gentle roaring (sounding rather like The Cramp’s Poison Ivy practising over in the next parish) becomes a backdrop over which indistinct keys, fetid tape grot and soft Dictaphone squelches hover on opener ‘One Eye Lower Than the Other’

The next two tracks, ‘Millipede in a Doll’s House’ and ‘Mushroom Heads are Turning’ are surely designed to spook; they come across like a Yorkshire Dead C with their sound-on-sound fullness, their squished-sonic wrongness.  Black reverb ripples across backmasked guitar and throb in a fair approximation of a tape player actually throwing up; brown ribbons spiralling out, collecting in sticky ferric pools. It all ends in a grim repetition which baffles against broken ancient machinery.  A woven howl (now sounding like a 16th generation tape of Kerry King’s amp fizz) smears as Gerhard Richter, using only charcoal tones and coal dust, comes up with his next masterpiece.

‘Just Burned Down a Care Home’ starts with some s-w-e-e-t tape-juggling, thumb on the soft pause squealing out fractured speech while that dude out the Cocteau Twins wonders why all his pedals now sound like elephant seals huffing petrol fumes.

Massed tape séance-traps are forced open on ‘Van Hoogstraten’s Big Pay Back: Gorton Poltergeist Revisited’ leaking thick magnetic ectoplasm with a “whurrr, whhorrr, whurrrr” rattling like an unsteady wind.  It’s heady like good brandy.

Several ghostly interruptions later we happen upon the rarest of beasts, a No-Audience Underground cover version of a real-live tune (x2).  The Grey Guides join the dots, reversed of course, between The Can and The Fall from a barely perceptible start; the faintest of pulses through to a garage-rock-recorded-through-codeine-infused-marshmallow finale.

I finally collapse to the unruly jaxx of ‘The Unlovely Acolyte Anointed at Last’ – Sidney Bechet clarinet played on Satan’s mouthparts and wonder.  “Is this what passes for entertainment in Morley right now? “

Yeah it is?

Book me on the Mega bus boys…I’m coming down to jam!


CAM – Mirror Confrontations (Skrat Records) Vinyl LP and digital album

These long-timers, Denmark’s enigmatic CAM, share six electronic improvisations with us on this classy vinyl offering.

It’s a noble three-piece set-up with Claus Poulsen, Anders Borup and Mads Bech Paluszewski-Hau on an encyclopaedic array of tapes, synth, processing, objects, things, toys, electronics and improbable occult practices.

Keen RFM-spotters will recognise the name Claus Poulsen from his work with Star Turbine (a duo with Sindre Bjerga – on tour in the UK late Feb/early March) but this is a very different animal to their ion-drive grit.  CAM specialise in fast-moving tripod dialogue, texture and split-tooth wrangles ya’ hear.

The spirit of Northern Europe Improv is strong with strains of cold-dark hiss, low-frequency gloop and singular vocal hummings woven together in pan of steaming mind-think.

The six tracks on this el-pee make these impressions on my Swiss-cheese mind.

  • Squiffy beats ba-da-bump like Saaaaalllllt n’ Peppppper over a humpin’ vox (heavy on a delay). Snatches of field-recorded atmosphere are tucked up nice with an analogue-warm wave; reverse-hissing seems to be become a new Olympic discipline as breath gets sucked out a puckered pair of lips.
  • More moaning: a creaky bridge caught up in high wind. The cables sing sorrow in a thousand different voices.  The damp thump of workboots crossing the swollen planks adds a steady beat.  But what’s that I hear?  The dreams of the factory workers hoping for sunnier Spring days.
  • Uncertain hymns via Robert Wyatt’s fractured, dust-dry larynx. There’s a real Rockbottom vibe with that watery keyboard (a gift from Julie Christie) lapping gently at your stubby toes.  The oyster grit comes in the form of treble-heavy child chatter and bubbling electronic slime.
  • Primary tones/chalk sliding over wet slate/Babbit-bobble/wrenched petroleum
  • Confrontations in the afternoon, seeping prose and dramatic static ripples – don’t go chasing waterfalls.
  • Mind-over-matter becomes a group practice. Three individual voices hum the theme from ‘The Bridge’ in different timezones, accents and languages so voice two arrives before voice one and voice three has an acidic hangover.  Deep as an oil well and twice as sticky.

OK Travellers…a reliable signpost might say Supersilent but I reckon these dudes are looser and, without doubt, DIY to the core.


Constellation Tatsu

Emblems of Cosmic Disorder

Crow Versus Crow Universe

SKRAT Records


shock discovery continued: zines vs. magazines, writing vs. journalism

April 20, 2012 at 7:43 am | Posted in musings, no audience underground | Leave a comment
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This morning I discover that after posting the piece below about The Wire magazine, criticism etc. I had my second-highest daily ‘hits’ total since this blog’s inception.  You lot like a bit of poking-a-sacred-cow-with-a-stick, obviously.  It has also provoked some thoughtful and illuminating correspondence.  Chief amongst these missives is what follows.  It was hand-delivered during the night, unsigned and in a scented envelope, with a note attached saying I could use the contents as I saw fit, but that the author’s identity had to remain a secret.  I was quite taken with the further distinctions proposed so have decided to make this the first ever guest post on radiofreemidwich.  ‘Comrade X’ writes:

Hmm, I’m trying to think what I make of your distinction between reviewing and criticism.  Is that a thing? I suppose it could be.  For my sins, I’m afraid I rather like a good diss piece sometimes.  But the building up and knocking down of flavour of the months seems to have become a staple of music journalism, and it is depressing after a time, so maybe less of that would be a good thing, give the space over to things you like rather than things you don’t.  I can see that being on the receiving end of bad criticism is not pleasant.  In the fast cycling world of modern pop culture it seems a reputation can be made and destroyed in about 18 months.  But I feel to live in a world of total positivism is very twenty-first century,  and a bit of me longs to see the boot put in from time to time.  It’s entertaining.  What happens when an artist you always loved turns stale?  Do you just walk away? I presume you are aware of the irony that you have just performed a criticism of the Wire.  Which I have to say I enjoyed immensely.

For my part I too make distinctions, between zines (which I think is what RFM is) and magazines.  I see zines as the superior medium of criticism, or review, despite their supposed ‘lesser’ standing in the world of writing.  Zines are written from a standpoint of amateurism, in the sense of the lover, one who loves their subject.  They allow the writer freedom, from the restrictions of time limits, space, and the editorial concerns of their superiors and commercial backers, to say what they think, to create interesting writing, explore new ideas, to invent.

Magazines are commercial enterprises.  The veneer of criticism and commentary barely disguises the main fact that they are vehicles for selling the products contained within, and their interests are governed by those of advertisers, PR companies and A&R agents.  For this reason Billboard may be the most honest magazine in existence, it cuts to the chase, it is music journalism laid naked.

Some might say that the restrictions make writing into a serious discipline, and are necessary to avoid sloppy, rambling writing.  In answer firstly I’d say it doesn’t, in the reams of toe-curlingly trite prose that are cranked out every month.   This leads to the second distinction I make, between writing and journalism.

Writing, as I see it, is a creative endeavour, whereby language is manipulated to produce new ideas, arrangements of words, and viewpoints.  We have a sense of the writer’s personality embedded in the words.  Writing may eventually lead to a commercial benefit for the writer, but this is not the ultimate motive for its production. Journalism is producing a prearranged number of words to order, usually as a reaction to something that already exists in the world, to a time deadline, for the goal of procuring money.  People make the mistake of thinking journalism and writing are the same thing.  They are not.  You will not find much writing in a magazine.  Journalism is not writing, as it seldom creates any new ideas or experiments with new approaches to writing.  Its aim is to convey clearly why you should or shouldn’t buy something.  No room for experimentation, the meaning will get lost.  There is also what I call the ‘Earnestly Whimsical’ school of journalism, which attempts to shoehorn the euphoric zeal and skattiness of a ziner into a corporate rags column inches.  Never works for me as it always seems like they’re trying too hard to be kooky, and their voices always somehow manage to be indistinct.  I also think zine writing is generally only poor when it seeks to ape a ‘professional’ journalistic style of writing.

So again I think zines offer writers freedom to actually produce writing and not journalism, so they win.  I think for me the distinction between criticism and reviewing are not so important as the distinction between zines and writing on the one hand and magazines and journalism on the other.   I admire Idwal Fisher’s approach to reviewing music he doesn’t care for, long tangential musings that skirt the music entirely.  But they are entertaining and you sort of get what he’s getting at.  If you get me. So yeah, what Miguel said basically (Editor’s note: see Miguel’s comment on original piece below).

But I suppose you’re also asking, is criticism useful to outsider artists?  I think probably not, because most criticism of a ‘vision’ only seeks to rein it back into conventional notions of excellence or good taste.  And good taste should be avoided wherever possible.

Oh, and the sad thing is, there is no such thing as ‘critic school’.  People get thrown in there and suddenly their word is law.  Maybe there should be.  Or maybe critic school is a journalism degree, but do many people do one thinking their dream job is to write for the Wire.  It makes me suspect some people would be happy to write about Stockhausen or copy for a travel brochure, whichever pays better.

Anyway, enough from me.  I really should get my own blog, but I never find the time between replying to other people’s.

My thanks to Comrade X and I hope they do somehow find the time for their own blog – I would certainly be an avid reader.

shock discovery: no audience underground immune to criticism!

April 19, 2012 at 7:40 am | Posted in blog info, musings, no audience underground | 14 Comments
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Two weeks ago, a chain of thought I will partly explain below led me to buying a copy of The Wire magazine.  This may surprise regular readers as me whaling on this publication is almost a running joke here at RFM.  Wasn’t always thus.  From the early 90s, and for over a decade, I never missed an issue.  From discovering its existence I earnestly supported the only champion of ‘our’ music on the newsstand.  The full realisation that I had been duped by this nonsense was a long time coming but a blessed relief when it did.  I binned my final subscription copy with the same relish with which I extinguished my final cigarette.

However, since my return to music in 2009 I have felt the occasional twinge in the direction of The Wire.  “What is it like now?” I would wonder occasionally.  The omens weren’t good: a lot of interesting people I know dismiss it out of hand, the dull and unfinished ‘Splazsh‘ by Actress got 2010 album of the year and I was shown a review which asserted that Neil Campbell was the best solo improv guitarist since Derek Bailey.  Now my admiration for Neil as a musician and a human being is second to none, but this hilarious comment shows a woeful ignorance of at least three key things: a) Neil’s music, b) Bailey’s music and c) music in general.  Oh dear.

Despite all that, I intended to start this piece by talking about The Wire so I thought I should at least read it again and bought the April issue.  A photo of some dude who looks like a young Dave Grohl was on the cover, as was a CD affixed with the plastic snot that all magazines use for the purpose nowadays.

Alas, it is actually worse than I remember.  The layout is dismal, almost wilfully alienating.  A tiny unreadable font is surrounded by white space like a medieval book of days.  In ye olde dayes when paper (vellum?) was expensive leaving wide empty margins served a twofold purpose: it gave the text a gravity and importance and it indicated the wealth of the owner.  Interesting to see The Wire using the same technique to signify a not-too-different snobbery.

The content is awful.  So much for ‘our’ music.  Aside from a track by Neil Campbell & Robert Horton on the CD, none of the dozens of people I know making terrific music on the fringes are mentioned.  The magazine is as in thrall to ‘big’ names and respected labels as the most infuriating hipster.  Advertised on the cover is ‘We are all David Toop now’ an eight page (including dull photographic illustrations) article by Simon Reynolds on David Toop which begins:

The names of Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari barely feature in David Toop’s writing…

Christ on a bike, eh?  This stuff is beyond parody.  Scything out the cultural studies (im)posturing you are left with a basic overview of (the admittedly interesting) Toop’s writing and an argument from Reynolds that seems to point to the conclusion that actually no-one is like David Toop nowadays.  Eight bloody pages.  The review section is similarly dispiriting.  Reams of forgettable writing so airless, claustrophobic and undifferentiated it makes me want to shred the magazine and throw open a window.

It pains me to write this – it does – as I want my blog to be as positive as possible, but I’m struggling here.  Think of the hundreds of hours and thousands of pounds that go into The Wire’s production every month.  It would be interesting to compare the latter figure with the combined total of all the extra ticket/album/download sales that positive coverage in this magazine generates.  I know from personal experience that it is virtually nil (or less-than-nil once you count in the cost of sending review copies).  I would bet, with confidence, that the two or three sales occasioned by the joyful wordsmithery you find on this humble blog beats the total for many of the reviews The Wire publishes to no avail each month.

I could go on but I don’t want to lend it too much importance.  Like the city in Christopher Priest’s Inverted World, The Wire grabs and distorts whatever is unlucky enough to get too close. Fortunately its reach is poor and is easily avoided.  The reason I mention it is that The Wire is the biggest, dumbest-whilst-it-thinks-it-is-being-clever example of the problem of criticism which I shall now elaborate on.

First, I need to make a face-saving distinction between reviewing and criticism.  Writing reviews is what I do here, most of which follow a similar template: the spec of the release (format, length, some pictures etc.) followed by an account of what it brought to mind, sometimes illustrated with anecdote or flights of fancy that I hope you find charming and not too self-indulgent, followed by details of where to get hold of it.  My humble desire is to bring stuff I like to your attention in the hope that you’ll check it out.  I am, of course, aware that there is such a thing as a bad review, and that bad reviews can be entertaining to read, but I am uninterested in writing such things myself for reasons that will become evident.  For me the essence of reviewing is positive and unapologetically subjective.

What I don’t do is criticism*.  Yes I know this is not necessarily a value-laden term – it can refer simply to the act of discussing or forming a judgement on the qualities of an endeavour.  However, I think that in common parlance it carries unavoidable connotations of disapproval and, interestingly, objectivity.  Roll the two terms around your brain for a moment and you’ll see what I mean: the reviewer is offering an opinion, the critic is pronouncing from a position of expertise.  Whether you’d prefer your work to be reviewed or criticised, you have to admit that the latter term implies a rigour that the former doesn’t.  Criticism, as commonly understood, involves finding fault, ‘constructive’ criticism implies advice on how to correct those faults, or how to otherwise better your work.  At its most daunting this is analysis, criticism with a university educated vocabulary, at its most positive and friendly this is criticism’s hyperactive cousin feedback.

And here is where the problem starts.  In two words: why bother?  We are undoubtedly as vain and needy as any bunch of artists and will lap up praise and validation with an obscene eagerness.  However, that said, the huge majority of the music I listen to was obviously produced mainly to please the producer.  I may consider myself something of an expert on these things (I’ve certainly put the hours in – see my imagined rejoinder ‘quoted’ in the Spoils & Relics piece) but am I really justified in saying that a piece is unforgivably meandering?  Or that the high pitched sounds are grating and would be better lower in the mix?  Or that the promise shown on their genius early recordings has yet to be fulfilled?  This is not music to be marketed via focus group.  It is profoundly personal, verging on solipsistic sometimes, and this needs to be respected for two reasons.

Firstly, people’s feelings are at stake.  To criticize their offerings is like telling a new mum that her baby is ugly.  ‘Awww… diddums,’ the hard-hearted amongst you might be thinking but I’m serious.  This is a small scene and the unit of currency is goodwill.  To strut about the changing room thrusting your ‘opinions’ into the face of other team members is childish and inappropriate.  Secondly, this is someone’s vision we’re talking about here.  The stuff I’m presented with is finished, complete – not just in the sense that a physical object, or even a download to a lesser extent, is immutable, but also in that the creative process has led to this concluding point.

This is why The Wire is such a flat, dry, saddening read.  It is full of critics who cover their shaming lack of knowledge with daft pronouncements.  They are determined to use the chops they’ve learnt in critic school no matter how inappropriate, detrimental or uninformative, no matter how forced the contextualisation, no matter how bogus the conclusion.  Perhaps what is most depressing is the thought of how much fun, how joyful it could be instead.

So, to conclude: shamelessly subjective reviews, ideally positive = good, criticism and analysis = dull and quite possibly pointless.  So there.  Anyone want to offer some feedback?  Just a little comment?  C’mon, man, I need some FEEDBACK!!

Heh, heh.


*That said, I will pull people up on two things.  Firstly, pretentiousness.  I am aware it is a fault of mine so I am hypocritically hyper-critical when I see it in others.  Secondly, easily solvable technical issues with the recording – unbalanced channels and the like.  Sort it out kids, you’re mugging yourself.  And works in progress are a different story: take it to Soundcloud and do what thou wilt.

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