close to the pylons: joe murray on robin foster, henry collins, leda, arv & miljö, tear fet, troy schafer

August 5, 2016 at 3:41 pm | Posted in new music, no audience underground | Leave a comment
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Henry Collins / Robin Foster – Spill Lynch Corrosiveness / Frostlike Neighbourly Aversion (CD-r, LF Records, LF050)

Leda – City/Clear (7″ vinyl, I Dischi Del Barone, IDDB010, edition of 200)

Arv & Miljö – untitled (7″ vinyl, I Dischi Del Barone, IDDB008, edition of 200)

Tear Fet – Blabber (CD-r, Chocolate Monk, choc.333, edition of 40)

Troy Schafer – Amplified Double Fiddle (3″ CD-r and pin badge or download, aetheric records)

hcrf

Henry Collins / Robin Foster – Spill Lynch Corrosiveness / Frostlike Neighbourly Aversion  

These two ‘non-guitarists’ play something approaching Kaiser-mash with some extremely damaged fingers.

Two tracks.  One mind/ten fingers a-piece.  You dig?

Spill Lynch yeah!  Guitar-as-you-trucking-lump-it. Totally wrecked non-playing as strings are hammered on and hammered off.  Steel is plucked and pulled and shredded hard with foam mallets.  Rubbery metal is found bounced in the reverse making this a righteous dental dam for pearly whites.

Tiny fists, like Joe Pesci’s ‘pow…ping…pow’, jab into your soft temple raising a bruise and yet… this would be a wonderfully zesty cocktail!  But you add the mangled FX-BOX and goof-timing and you are looking at a particularly sexy beach.  Memory gong ripples out a Daxophone reference but it’s slung as low as a Kev Hopper bassline so figure that captain!

Frostlike yeah! One man spitting canned peas out a tight, puckered gob-hole dribbles cold green bile.  OR has Eddie Van taken the vapours so his ERUPTION is all STAR SPANGLED out a tiny HIWATT about to burst into flames.  It’s like a pissy Morse; a constant chatter of on/off/on/off rattling up through my ribcage and whispering into my fontanel.  It’s machine code on the jibber-jabber somehow rocking a ska rhythm.  It’s barium voodoo and it’s aiming for any hole going.

We Roll tonight to the guitar bite

leda

Leda – City/Clear

Crispy bouncing beats sound like they crept out of Sheffield circa 1979.  A wheexing synth plays a one note melody and twists the pitch up, out of waxy remains, until the thing squeals like a pinched nut.  One dimensional in the best possible way; focused and determined Leda sings a line that blends soft as Egyptian eye shadow.  It does its thing at a totally brisk pace: skip, skip, skipping like a hockey puck over dull scuffed ice.

The flipside proper songs it; imagine shoving a Woodbine into that Vape pen and huffing hard.  Misty organ vamps float like a kite flapping drastically close to the pylons.  Leda sighs as if bad news is arriving soon in a manila envelope.  I’m thinking of Barbara Manning in her total waif days if you’re looking for a mind-crutch.

Wonderfully brief, totally Nu Wave.  Where’s my piano tie dude?

arv

Arv & Miljö – Untitled

The mysterious Arv & Miljö are quite possibly the equally mysterious Matthias Andersson who has jammed a high-quality mic out his neat apartment window to record the big wide world going about its business.

Side A picks up those pesky seabirds all going

CAW CAW SQUEEEEEE CAW

in fine white clarity.  If this was Whitby they’d be fighting over chips but Matthias’ location is totally smorgasbord, all gherkin fresh and sauna-clean toes.

Side B revels in a Swedish downpour. The trebly ‘hiss’ of the rain fills my ears almost whole but gradually subsides into more bassy individual drips (off your peaked cap perhaps) and ends on a fragile bowl ringing making this a super-fucking-classy ride on the vinyl.

blabber

Tear Fet – Blabber

As serious as your life.

This meditation on disease and ultimate loss is pure honest gibber that surfs straight from tragedy.  It’s a pretty unsettling raw disc of vocal jaxx, jammed to tape direct with no discernable dubs or edits.  The 20 minute piece was scored by Fet himself (a Matt Dalby apparently) and then, as the moorings loosen, it breaks free of all reason.

My first few listens marvel at the sheer range of guff coming outta two lips, two lungs and one tongue.

Me?  I’ll carry this like Wisdens… a goddamn almanac of honk.  A how-to guide!

Over the course of the spinning shiney I count the following techniques: slack mouth farts, gulps, wheezing roars, tactile yawns, owl squeaks, slibby gibbers, lip-smacks, jaw creaks, warble and weft, dry huff/wet huff, moans, scones and drones, deep sighs, ribbet-lite, mucus croak, deft saliva manipulation, pinched inhalations, seal barks, wet sucking, coughs (phlegm and tickle), rude burps, careless whispers, dirty slurps, humms, ululation, snivel and whimpers, throat rasp, snivels (without whimpers), throat shred, large cheek inflation, nasal gargles, proper singing, mithering, call and response (solo), repetition and imitation, vibration of fleshy jowls, cavity popping, fake Russian bantz, sinus snort, irregular mucus work, jakey muttering, horse blowing and common or garden slobber. [Editor’s note: Bravo Joe! *claps meatily in approval*]

For students of vocal jizz in all its glorious forms; consider this one essential.

fiddle

Troy Schafer – Amplified Double Fiddle

A tremendous hot spurting event of a record that moves from God-rattling fists to microscopic blossoms bursting.

Mr Troy here has built his own double fiddle, inspired by Aussie out-violinist Jon Rose, and rammed it through all manner of cheap distortion sawing away raising merrie hell.

The horsehair rips up a storm (x 2), the dragging and pushing astringent as a spilled gin ‘n tonic but still fatly full and all encompassing.  Occasionally things fall apart into an elegant digital-ditch or rusty tape hole; all the better to keep things human and sprightly I say!

Oh my sweet Lord!  There’s something wonderfully elemental about the frenzied bowing, the constant car-crash of sound that’s as bright as a spotlight; a pure unfettered stream of energy and information.

The overtones really play nice with my pink ears, especially on the less noisy moments.  The double movement is shaped like slow geography, a gradual denudation of the bristling sonics turning the abrasive into smooth gold teeth.

Hey!  Conventional wisdom loves a crescendo eh?  A simple narrative that leads to the big pay off, the money shot.  But Troy baffles by moving from Piss Superstition-levels of fuckedness to a no-more-than slightly water-damaged scrape over the course of this beautifully direct record.  The arc in reverse.

I’m so keen you hear this I checked with aetheric and blimey… it’s sold out at source.  Click the download my beauties!

—ooOoo—

LF Records

I Dischi Del Barone

Chocolate Monk

aetheric records

twenty-eight inches, twice: joe murray on roger stella, lea bertucci, krube, kostis kilymis

March 7, 2016 at 1:03 pm | Posted in new music, no audience underground | Leave a comment
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Roger Stella – The Final Programme (7″ vinyl, I Dischi Del Barone, IDDB005, edition of 200)

Lea Bertucci – Light Silence, Dark Speech (7″ vinyl, I Dischi Del Barone, IDDB003, edition of 200)

Krube – Untitled (7″ vinyl, I Dischi Del Barone, IDDB006, edition of 200)

Kostis Kilymis – Crystal Drops/Ground Loops (7″ vinyl, I Dischi Del Barone, IDDB004, edition of 200)

stella

Roger Stella – The Final Programme

Extremely fucked-up noise jam.   Imagine a waterfall of malfunctioning electronics falling several miles down an icy crevasse.  The sharp static crackles and low-frequency rumble are shot through with an almost space-rock noodling on a modular synth (or something else distinctly bubbling).

There are some leering rhythms; all slack jawed with glistening chops hinting darkly behind the hubbub on sides A and B.  I’m tickled greatly by the Satanic goat that adorns this handsome single and picture him with his shiny hooves up at the mixing desk, kicking the pots and huffing on his diesel pipe.  A noise Lee Perry?

One thing’s for sure: Roger will make the perfect support act when Wolf Eyes eventually gobble up Hawkwind and take that shit on the road.

bertucci

Lea Bertucci – Light Silence, Dark Speech

The hail has turned to gentle snow as I play each side of this wonderful disc again and again.

An Unbroken Plan: Beautifully thin and delicate saxophone lines breathe misty like frozen elk and roll glossy around your ears.  Then these coppery whispers are gradually woven together to form a brittle Terry Riley-like sculpture.  It’s light as air but with an irresistible sour edge; the sonic equivalent of bad milk.  And I can’t help myself but have one more sniff.

Faces in the Shadows: Horn solo in Asgard!  Without no skronk or over-blown gimmicks Lea teases a feathery tongue out the warm brassy bowl that flutters like the heart of a finch.  The balance to this lightness is a full-fat tone, rich as figs, that curls at the edges of memory and silent longing.  I feel the moisture on my cheeks and bark abruptly,

I must have got something in my eye!

The snow continues to fall, each flake a damaged star.

krube

Krube – Untitled

Dark home recordings of floorboards, rocking chairs and gently burning hair are passed though a magnetic sieve.  This particular processing has the power to repel all ‘regular’ sound until only the slag and grit are left.  On this side the sonic property of the ‘creak’ is explored in extraordinary detail, equivalent to a fully illustrated 300 page memo.

Flipping this disc my lugs are massaged by salty drizzle and the swish of heavy traffic.  Like the wake of a trawler, a churn seems to follow the leading edge of crackle and hiss.  This sound-tail (apply the dirty snowball of a comet analogy if you prefer) becomes the focus in a canny reverse listening exercise.  The resulting granite spluttering makes me check out the stereo… I swear the rotating vinyl is buckling!

kostis

Kostis Kilymis – Crystal Drops/Ground Loops

A seriously rubbery proposal!

‘Crystal Drops’ bounces steel ball bearings off a taut ram-skin. Each projectile is traced with phosphorus trails and describe erratic arcs across the sky.  Electricity, the most unnatural of energies, keeps things aloft until all is shagged out and spent and each silver sphere drops and lies gently fizzing in the fragrant lavender.

When things cool down I turn this baby over and slurp up ‘Ground Loops (a line, obscured)’.  My skull becomes a ringing bell as I realise I’m listening to this at the wrong speed – it’s a stately 33 rpm not the youthfully speedy 45 I’d assumed.  My notes readjusted I can report the languid electro opener is trailer for a more domestic earful.  The field recorder’s greatest enemy – a dumb wind – plays blurry bass notes as London folk dodge jumbo jets, helicopters and old, clickerty bikes rendered in the most delicate of detail.  A game of street cricket is interrupted and a lovely remonstration,

no-no-no-no-no-no-no

stands out as the most engaging earworm.

A lazy reviewer might couch this snapshot as a Hogarthian print.  But I think that would be missing the point.  The warmth of the recording and the freshness of the edits put Kostis right in the heart of the action.  This is no voyeur-eye view or parachuting tourist, this is a poem to the everyday tig-taggle of life’s connections.  It’s the huss of a city lived.

—ooOoo—

I Dischi Del Barone

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